Miss Me Princess?
by littlerose23
Summary: What if Clarke reacted differently to the reappearance of John Murphy in episode 1x10 "I Am Become Death"? Murphy returns, tortured by the grounders, making Clarke think about her past decisions and actions as a leader. Could guilt, doubt and regret change them both? Following the same basic plot of the show but Clarke/Murphy centric.
1. Chapter 1

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter One**

 _[1x10 – 'I Am Become Death']_

 **Murphy P.O.V.**

He was lying down. He must have lost consciousness. He didn't have enough energy to open his eyes but his other senses were starting to awaken now too, so he lay still and waited. The ground he was lying on was cold and hard but the air around him was still: there was no wind, chilling the air and blowing the heat out of his skin. His first thought was one of relief; to finally have some kind of shelter from the harsh and unforgiving outdoors. But his relief was quickly overtaken by dread, with the thought that shelter might mean being back in captivity; back with the grounders. Fear began to coil tightly in his chest. But with each passing second the tightness loosened, with the growing realisation that his fear appeared to be unfounded: he could no longer smell the stench of the damp concrete that had been stained with dried blood and urine; he could no longer hear the grating sound of the whetstone the guard had continually dragged across the edge of her blades; he could no longer feel the jagged rope that had been tied too tightly around his wrists and ankles. He wasn't there prisoner anymore. That thought was enough to make his heart sore and his body feel light as a feather. If he hadn't been so bone tired he would have smiled, maybe even laughed out his delight.

Murphy mentally took stock of his body, concentrating on each limb in turn and trying to remember each injury he had acquired. His body was limp with exhaustion. He could feel his aching muscles seizing and cramping and his joints felt stiff and swollen. Numerous gashes stung and burned leaving his skin feeling raw. His head was pounding and his throat was dry. Murphy was sure that any inch of his skin which wasn't either burnt or bleeding, was bruised. But he had become an expert in pain these last few days. He had learned the difference between the slow and steady burning aches of an existing wound and the lancing fire of agony that erupted with each fresh injury; each new strike, or slash. Murphy felt no raging fire of fresh torture now, only the relentless pain of a beaten and broken body. He sighed in relief, and realising he was in no position to do much else, he succumbed to his exhaustion and let his mind slip into sleep without even opening his eyes.

What could have been minutes or days passed by with Murphy dazedly slipping in and out of awareness; he never fully wakened, never opened his eyes or shifted his aching muscles, but he knew he was surfacing to consciousness whenever he felt the needles of pain starting to poke through his hazy mind and stab at his senses. But then something else pulled at his mind and triggered a spark of alertness that insistently tugged him out of refuge of his subconscious. Through the murky exhaustion, his attention was caught by the sound of a wet sniff at his side. There was a quivering exhale and then another shaky sniff. Some of the fog started to clear from his mind as he listened and realised he wasn't alone. Then there was a light splash and a sloshing sound as something soft was dropped into a container of water. Murphy sensed movement at his side. He was fully conscious now and realised amidst the returning pain and mounting fear that he now lay on something soft and something cool was draped wetly across his forehead.

Just as he was deciding he should risk opening his eyes to see where he was and who was with him the sound of approaching footsteps made him pause. There were three, maybe four sets of boots heading towards him. Murphy concentrated on keeping his posture relaxed and strained his ears desperate for any information, whilst hoping that these new arrivals couldn't somehow see his racing heart and tell that he was awake.

"Get away from him Clarke." Said a harassed sounding Bellamy Blake.

"No." Came the instant reply. Murphy's breathing froze. The Princess's voice was stuffy and quiet, and only inches away from his side.

"We need to question him." Bellamy said sounding irritated.

"And you can. Once he's conscious and I've cleaned and dressed all of his wounds."

"Clarke," started Finn, sounding the most calm and patient, "You need-"

"I need another pot of water boiled." Clarke cut him off, her tone sharper now. Murphy heard someone sigh and feet shuffling.

"Conor and Derek stay with Clarke. I want to know the minute he's conscious." Bellamy instructed.

"I'm not having two guards stand over me while I treat a patient Bellamy." Clarke snapped.

"Clarke think about-" Finn tried again.

"Boiled water. And more alcohol. Then you can all get out. I'm trying to work here."

There was an angry hiss and some low muttering then several sets of footsteps retreated, but Murphy had no way of knowing how many had left and who was still there. Stillness and silence stretched on for several long moments before it was finally broken by the sloshing and dripping of water. Cool fingers touched his hand, gently lifting it. The next thing he felt was warm denim under his palm as a wet cloth began brushing over his hand, sliding over his burst knuckles and along his fingers down to his bloody nail beds.

So he was back with the 100. Murphy let this thought sink in while he waited for his heartbeat to slow down. Somewhere underneath his pain and exhaustion and the lingering threads of fear, he noted how strange that exchange had just been. Bellamy's brash hostility was the kind of reception he had imagined getting, for the brief moment that he had thought about what his return to the camp would be like, as he was fleeing from the grounders' settlement. The last thing he could remember now was frantically running through the dense foliage of the forest in what he hoped was the general direction of the 100's camp. He never imagined he would wake up in the relative safety and comfort of the dropship with none other than the Princess tenderly treating his wounds, and refusing - she had point blank _refused -_ to leave his side. A sudden and cold hatred began seeping through his insides like a poison at the thought of the privileged Princess; so high and mighty in the way she had always acted towards him, like he was less than the dirt on her boots. Safety, comfort, tenderness; these things were of no use to someone like John Murphy. He had never needed them before and he didn't need them now, especially not from Clarke Griffin. The sharp sound of a sniff and a shuddering breath once again pulled Murphy back out of the depths of his mind and into his straining senses. He could feel trembling but couldn't tell if it was coming from his own hand or from Clarkes as one still held the other. There was another sniff. Then a croaky whisper broke the silence.

"I'm so sorry." She was so close that her breath blew across his lacerated cheek, briefly soothing the stinging cuts there. Clarke's voice cracked over the apology even although she whispered it no louder than a sigh. Her words sounded thick and wet, and full of a pain that he didn't understand. Murphy held perfectly still, thinking that that couldn't possibly have been the overbearing Princess.

"I'm so sorry." She repeated.

She whispered the same three words over and over while she worked, making her way slowly across his damaged skin, from wound to wound with her gentle fingers and her cool, wet cloth. Somehow Murphy started to feel less cold and alone as he lost himself in the soothing caress of the cool water and soft cotton on his dirty and damaged skin, and the hypnotic repetition of her hushed words, and her reassuring presence at his side. For the first time in a long time he felt a calm settle over him. A single set of footsteps approached and the whispers and sniffs stopped, but the gentle cleansing strokes continued. Murphy heard two containers being set down then the footsteps left again without anything being said.

Murphy wasn't aware of making the decision to finally open his eyes; one minute they were closed and the next thing he realised he was watching a trail of tears as they slid silently down Clarke's cheeks. She didn't seem to notice them, and she didn't notice he was awake and watching her until he eventually spoke.

"Miss me Princess?" he croaked out. He couldn't remember ever seeing her so flustered before. She gasped and her eyes widened as she quickly dashed at her wet cheeks with her sleeve, clumsily bumping the bowl of blood stained water in the process, splashing them both and simultaneously toppling the flask of alcohol at her side, as she scrambled to get him a cup of water to drink.

"Murphy. Here, drink this. Slowly." She urged as he choked on his first gulp and coughed. They watched each other in silence. Murphy's eyes showed his wariness and distrust but as he watched Clarke none of what he remembered about her, none of what he hated about her was present. Instead he could see pain, and guilt, and defeat shinning in the wetness in her eyes as she looked at him. He always thought that sight would please him. Perhaps he was just too tired and sore to enjoy it. Approaching footsteps broke the moment. Neither looked away but the scrutiny and intensity of the stare from seconds ago was gone now. Clarke didn't move from where she sat facing Murphy but before his eyes she seemed to transform as the newcomer neared them. Her face closed over and the emotion in her eyes drained away leaving a cold and detached expression which he recognised as the Princess he hated so much.

* * *

 **Clarke P.O.V.**

Clarke tensed at the sound of footsteps on the dropships ramp, but stayed where she was, rinsing the blood soaked cloth in a bowl of pink stained water.

"Get away from him Clarke." Barked a pissed off Bellamy. She wasn't sure if his anger was because of the sudden reappearance of Murphy or because she had ignored everything he said and was now tending to the unconscious Murphy. She didn't much care either way. The sight of a beaten Murphy being half carried, half dragged through the gate had almost made her sick. She didn't quite understand all the emotions churning in her stomach but what she did know was that he needed help and she needed to help him.

"No." Was her curt response.

"We need to question him." Said Bellamy. She could hear his impatience and knew he didn't understand her actions. Neither did she.

"And you can. Once he's conscious and I've cleaned and dressed all of his wounds." Clarke told him.

"Clarke. You need-" Finn was trying to appease her but all he was managing was to patronise her. He had spoken out against Bellamy's instant reaction of suspicion and hostility, but he also seemed uneasy about Clarke's compassion. She wanted them both to leave her alone. Clarke cut him off before he could try to play the role of the negotiator.

"I need another pot of water boiled." She snapped knowing he wouldn't argue. Finn sighed, shuffling uneasily behind her.

"Conor and Derek stay with Clarke. I want to know the minute he's conscious." Bellamy instructed to the two boys with guns who had followed him into the dropship.

"I'm not having two guards stand over me while I treat a patient Bellamy." Clarke snapped, turning to glare at them.

"Clarke think about-" Finn tried again.

"Boiled water." She repeated, "And more alcohol. Then you can all get out. I'm trying to work here."

Bellamy let out an angry hiss but before his argument left his lips Finn muttered something beside him. Clarke caught the words 'can't' and 'unconscious'. The pair muttered back and forth until Bellamy nodded grudgingly and motioned for Conor and Derek to follow him before storming out of the dropship. Finn cast her a look before silently following them out.

Satisfied that they were gone for now Clarke turned her attention back to Murphy. The knot that had been forming in her stomach was pulled a little tighter as her eyes slid over him. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, willing the building moisture to stop clouding her vision and clogging her nose. Tears were a luxury she didn't have time for and didn't deserve. By the time she had counted to ten the rising sob had stopped burning the back of her throat. With trembling fingers she reached again for the pink cloth in the pink water. Clarke lifted Murphy's hand onto her lap and continued the slow process of washing his stained and abused skin. It wasn't long before tears began to gather again as she cleared the blood from the swollen and weeping skin of his fingers where the nails had been violently ripped out. Emotions pressed insistently against the dam she had built up inside of herself.

"I'm so sorry." she whispered with a sniff.

Clarke wasn't sure what she was sorry for specifically. For the pain he would surely be feeling just now if he were awake while she cleaned and treated his wounds? For the torture he had evidently endured? For the part she had played in him being banished, which had led to him being captured and tortured? For wrongly accusing him of killing Wells which got him almost hanged, then banished, then tortured?

"I'm so sorry." She moaned against the suffocating press of emotions and the knot in her stomach.

She whispered it each time she felt guilt squirming in her stomach threatening to make her throw up. She whispered it when the rising pressure became too much to bear and the tears broke through the dam, leaking steadily as she thought about what kind of person it would take to do this kind of damage to another human being. She whispered it each time she had to wash the blood out of the rag. A fresh pot of boiled water and another flask of alcohol were brought to her but Clarke kept her chin tipped down to her chest, curving herself over Murphy's torso and kept working, hiding her tears from whoever had brought her the supplies. She couldn't let anyone see how much this was hurting her. She had no right to feel pain when compared to the man lying in front of her, it was self-centred. She would manage her guilt. She would look after Murphy and make amends for what she had done. Murphy wasn't innocent; far from it. And Clarke knew that. But she also knew how consuming regret, and doubt, and failure were. Murphy's offences didn't excuse her own. So as far as she was concerned she was wiping the slate clean between the two of them. Anyone who had suffered like Murphy evidently had, deserved to be cared for and treated well. And that was exactly what Clarke was going to do. Maybe then he would eventually be able to forgive her, and if she had his forgiveness maybe she would someday be able to forgive herself.

"Miss me Princess?" Clarke was startled out of her thoughts by the rough croak of his voice. Her eyes snapped up to meet the guarded gaze of John Murphy.

"Murphy." For several seconds she could only stare, trapped in his gaze. But then she remembered herself and hastily scrambled to offer him the cup of water she had set aside for him to drink. "Here, drink this. Slowly." She added as he choked and coughed in his eagerness.

It was with a sharp pang of panic that Clarke realised she hadn't once considered how Murphy would react to being back here. How he would react to her - the person responsible for most of his misfortunes - being the one taking care of him. Nervous and unsure, Clarke watched him intently and waited for a reaction. Cagey, guarded and distrustful all adequately described him in that moment. Of course he was apprehensive, he had been a grounder prisoner, he had been tortured, and now he was back in a camp whose people had tried to hanghim. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. A heavy, guilty, sorrow churned inside her and Clarke hoped he could see the sincere regret in her eyes, because she couldn't possible begin to put it into words. Words weren't adequate and for that reason she wouldn't bother offering him an apology now that he was awake to hear her. But she could show him with her actions, she could try to make it up to him by the way she treated him from now on. She thought that the John Murphy she knew wouldn't want an apology anyway. Like so many of those who had spent a large part of their life in the skybox, Murphy had a hard and abrasive exterior. With that in mind she sat in front of him, quiet and patient as she waited for him to lash out like she had seen him do before; by defensively arming himself with snide insults, sharp threats and biting accusations. Seconds ticked by as they watched each other, appraising one another. For the briefest of moments Clarke felt a strange connection to Murphy; a moment where he was just a boy, and she was just a girl, and they were both just scared and alone. But then boots thumped up the ramp of the dropship and life came rushing back, blowing away the moment and bringing back all the little details that clogged and complicated their lives. Their stare hadn't wavered yet but with the end of their solitude came the end of the sense of solidarity. Clarke wasn't just a girl she was 'the Princess', the woman Murphy had hated more than any other member of the camp. Murphy wasn't just a boy he was at best a troubled delinquent and at worst a dangerous criminal, but either way he was one of Clarke's biggest regrets. Clarke forced everything from the last several hours back behind the dam inside her. Locking away her own personal feelings and bracing herself to step back into the role of efficient and reliable leader.

* * *

All feedback welcomed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Two**

 _[1x10 – 'I Am Become Death']_

Four people came marching into the dropship, moving purposefully towards the small cot in the far corner of Clarke's makeshift medical bay, where Murphy had lain since he was first brought in. Bellamy, Finn and the two guards who had carried Murphy into camp, Conor and Derek. They gathered behind Clarke in a tight semicircle, fencing her and Murphy into the corner. Murphy struggled weakly to pull himself up into a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the pain. Clarke instantly reached out to assist him, urging him in a quiet voice.

"Please lie back down and rest." But he ignored her, his eyes flicking anxiously between the men standing behind her as he awkwardly propped himself up against the wall with a wince. Clarke remained where she was, kneeling beside the cot with her back to the others as she worriedly watched him shift, her arm outstretched towards him in case he needed to steady himself as he shifted his weight. An ember of anger started to heat inside of her as she watched Murphy's face turn sickly pale and his breathing turn to sharp pants, his wary gaze darting back and forth between the others. Despite Murphy's poor condition they stood in a tall and imposing formation, towering over him and Clarke, with all except from Finn holding a gun ready in their hands. This wasn't about safety it was about Intimidating Murphy. She squared her shoulders and stood, turning to face them with her hands planted on her hips and an angry frown in place.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" she demanded.

"He's conscious." Said Bellamy whose gaze was locked on Murphy, "Now we're going to get some answers out of him."

Clarke's anger grew with Bellamy's blunt tone. He had no concern for how much pain Murphy was in or what he must have been through. She shifted a half step to her left, cutting across Bellamy's gaze until his eyes moved away from Murphy to focus on her.

"He's barely been conscious a few seconds and you think it's a good idea to ask him questions _now_?" Her frown deepened into a glare. "How did you even know he was awake?"

"Derek was guarding the dropship door. He signalled to me when he heard talking." There was an unspoken accusation in Bellamy's tone of voice. That she shouldn't have spoken to Murphy? That she should have yelled for Bellamy and the others the second he opened his eyes? Her anger was rapidly boiling as she struggled to keep her temper in check and stay in control of the situation.

"He's been awake for all of five seconds Bellamy." She snapped "I was training to be a doctor not an interrogator: my first thought was getting him some water and seeing how he was doing - which by the way I haven't even done yet. He may not even be lucid. You can all come back in once I've checked him over." That wasn't really true, she could tell he was lucid, so why was she making excuses?

"Not going to happen Princess." Bellamy retorted, turning to his men and effectively ending her input.

"He claims he was with the grounders." Started Derek.

"We caught him trying to sneak back into camp." Added Conor.

"I wasn't _sneaking_ I was running from the grounders." Murphy spoke out behind her in a low voice that was rough and hoarse and heavy with exhaustion. The sound was like a siren calling out to Clarke's caring nature; her shoulders tensed and her glare intensified.

"Anyone _see_ grounders?" asked Bellamy, looking in turn to each of the guards who both shook their heads. Clarke's anger flared again, their indifference was grating against her temper. How could they be so flippant when the evidence of the grounders brutality towards Murphy was right in front of them, quite literally carved into his bloody and swollen face?

"Well in that case." Bellamy said, raising his gun and aiming it directly at Murphy's chest. Her stomach gave a sickening squeeze. Without a second thought Clarke reacted, moving in front of Murphy to block Bellamy's shot.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she shouted, a fierce look flashing in her stormy blue eyes.

"We were clear on what would happen if he came back." Bellamy shouted back. His gun still raised.

"No." Clarke said in a dark and determined tone. Staying in the path of Bellamy's gun she backed up towards Murphy, trying to make sure that neither Conor nor Derek could get a clear shot at him either. Finn edged forward nervously. Always uncomfortable with any use of the guns, even more so now that one was pointed towards Clarke.

"If he really was with the grounders then he knows things that can help us." he interjected in a pacifying tone.

"Help us?" Bellamy asked, turning to Finn with an incredulous stare. "We hanged him. We banished him. And now we're going to kill him." He turned back to Clarke. "Get the hell out of my way."

"No. Finn's right." She said.

"Like hell he is. Clarke, think about Charlotte." Clarke stiffened at the mention of the young girl and the memories that surrounded her death. All of those horrible decisions. All of those avoidable mistakes. Her mind was already made up.

"What happened to Charlotte was as much our fault as his." She hissed at Bellamy "He's not lying. His fingernails are _torn off_. They tortured him!" Her outraged at what the grounders had done to Murphy fuelled her anger.

"You and the grounders should compare notes." Finn goaded Bellamy.

"The grounders know we're at war." Bellamy fired back at Finn before fixing his glare on Murphy again "What did you tell them about us?"

In an instant Clarke's anger was extinguished by dread. The sudden shock and terror sending a chill over her body like being drenched by a bucket of cold water. Oh God she hadn't even thought of that. Why hadn't that occurred to her? Because she had been too busy feeling sorry for Murphy and wallowing in her own guilt and self-loathing to consider the bigger picture.

Murphy closed his eyes. "Everything" he groaned.

The world stopped, frozen in a stunned silence. No one moved. There was nothing but the sound of their own blood rushing in their ears. Just as quickly as it came the shock wore off and the numbness that had gripped them seeped back out of their minds, out of their bodies, out of the thick atmosphere inside the dropship, to be replaced by an instant rush of fear and anger. The anger was mainly Bellamy. Murphy looked defeated, weighed down by shame and sheer exhaustion. Clarke and Finn were both momentarily paralysed by fear. Conor and Derek fidgeted and shuffled impatiently waiting to be told what to do. Waiting for their leaders' reactions to guide their own reactions. Clarke spotted the anger rising in Bellamy, like a volcano about to erupt. She knew at who that anger would be directed and it was that thought which snapped her out of her daze and propelled her back into the role of dependable and capable leader. Before anyone else had managed to react she stalked forward, purposely drawing all eyes to her and said in the most authoritative tone she could manage.

"Once he's better we'll find out what he knows about the grounders that could help us."

It was a plan, a next step. A decision was made and that in itself seemed to set Conor, Derek and Finn at ease. But Bellamy still vibrated with anger. And anger, she knew all too well, could lead to rash decisions.

"Then he's out of here. Or we kill him." he seethed before storming out. The breath she had been holding came rushing out.

* * *

"Would you like some more water?" Just like that the others were forgotten and Clarke was back to looking at him with such attentiveness and such care that he could only stare for a moment before mutely nodding at her. She handed him a canteen with a soft smile that didn't lessen the swirls of sadness clouding her eyes. All of the soft vulnerability that had bled out of her features the minute Bellamy and the others had barged in was back again. It made him wonder if this was who she really was. If this was the person she would have been, the warm and compassionate doctor she would have become if she hadn't been locked up for treason and banished to earth.

"I soaked some seaweed in the water and added some herbs. So it should work just like antibiotics and help your body fight any infections." She explained without looking him in the eye, focusing instead on her lap as she unrolled bandages and started fumbling with a needle and thread. "I'm afraid I don't have anything for the pain though. I used most of the moonshine as disinfectant but there's still a little left in the flask if you want to drink it."

Murphy was confused. He expect the hate, anger and aggression from Bellamy and the others, but the princess was confusing the hell out of him. He kept waiting for her to lecture him on selling them out to the grounders, or to press him for information about the grounders; details of his capture, or specifics of their camp size and numbers. But she didn't. She didn't act like a leader at all. She hardly _spoke_ at all. There was no sign of the bossy know-it-all leader, just the doctor. But even then she wasn't what he expected. He had seen her treat patients before: he and Bellamy once had to hold down a thrashing boy while she set his broken arm without so much as a wince or an apology; she had pulled inch long splinters out of a screaming girls hands and popped a cursing teen's dislocated shoulder back in with a detached calmness that he reluctantly respected. But now there was none of that cool professionalism she had previously shown. She was being apologetic, _friendly_ and…shy? It sounded strange even as he thought it, but that was what she was acting like: head down, struggling to meet his gaze, no hate or malice or anger when she did just soft smiles and warm eyes, to match her quiet voice and gentle hands.

Clarke was finally finished. Every inch of him from the waist up had been examined, washed and treated. (She had tried to examine _every_ inch of him, but he firmly assured her that they weren't so sadistic as to strip him naked and torture him, if she couldn't see it then they hadn't touched it: torso, arms, and face, were all they targeted.) Between the sharp tangy smell of the alcohol burning his nostrils and the stinging of his disinfected wounds, Murphy's eyes burned with unshed tears. He had been cleaned, disinfected, bandaged and stitched, and while his tired muscles screamed at him and his skin had been rubbed raw, it was a good kind of pain, a healing kind of pain.

Once she was satisfied that his wounds were all sterilised and sealed Clarke tidied away her supplies and returned with some food, water, a blanket and more herbs.

"Why waste this stuff on me." Murphy broke the silence that had settled around them.

"It's not a waste." She said.

"In a couple of days Bellamy's either going to send me out to die, or kill me himself." Murphy said.

"I'm not going to let that happen." Clarke answered. Murphy frowned and watched her closely, trying to judge if she was saying that just to keep him calm or because she really mean it.

"So you'll talk them into letting me stay?" he questioned sceptically, "It's only a matter of time before I piss someone off, or do something wrong again. Are you going to jump in front of every gun for me?" It came out sounding much harsher than he meant it to, but something about the righteous princess stepping in front of Bellamy's gun for him had irritated him. She just shrugged without even looking up at him. He continued, his next words sounding more like a warning. "Then they'll start blaming you for everything I do. They'll turn on you just as much as me." Her eyes snapped up to meet his and for a moment they regarded each other, and it was as if everything that had happened between them before, all of the anger and resentment and the baggage of who each of them was, and what their lots in life had been, all of that faded away. They were two people who were both scared, lost and alone, and nothing else mattered.

"Maybe that's what I deserve." She whispered, staring deep into his eyes and for once not blocking out the fear and doubt that she worked so hard to pretend wasn't there. "Get some sleep Murphy. I'll be right here if you need anything ok."

* * *

All feedback welcomed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Three**

 _[1x10 – 'I Am Become Death']_

He must have fallen asleep because Murphy woke up some time later feeling pain. He was sore and uncomfortable. And too hot. No, too cold. No…both. He groaned and the reverberations it sent through his body had him biting back another groan in pain.

"Murphy? Murphy can you hear me?….John?" he grunted, unable to do anything else. "You have a fever. I need you to drink some more of the seaweed and herb water." He started to shift but all of his muscles were already locked up, clenched against the shivers that were racking his body. With another low groan he tried again, gritting his teeth against the all over aching and rolled gingerly onto his back. A pretty face with a scrunched up forehead and surrounded by blonde curls came swimming into focus. The princess, he realised after several seconds.

"You must have an infection somewhere. All of your wounds still look fine but it could be something internal from exposure, like a chest infection or something. Can you tell me what hurts?"

"Head." He managed to rasp. "Throat." His tongue felt like a boulder; dry and heavy in his mouth as he answered.

"Flu like symptoms," she muttered to herself. "That's just dehydration from the fever." She explained still frowning. "Here drink more." She eased a folded blanket behind his head like a pillow, to prop him up and pressed the cup to his chapped lips.

Murphy felt the cot move and realised it was because Clarke moved, she was sitting next to him, her hip pressed against his. Her hand rested next to his shoulder, supporting her weight as she leaned over his chest, tendrils of her hair brushed along his collarbone as she shifted, mopping his brow and face with a damp cloth as he drank.

He drowsily watched her as she set aside the cloth to tuck the blankets more securely around his shaking shoulders. Clarke was still frowning when she returned her gaze to his. When she realised he was watching her the tightness around her eyes and lips loosened, opening up into a look of kindness and reassurance that instantly made him feel better.

"You're going to be ok." She soothed "I'm going to make you better." She was comforting him, he realised with a start. No one had treated him like that since before he got the flu which had led to his father being floated. For the first time in years, feeling ill didn't include feelings of guilt and grief. For the first time in a long time, being ill didn't involve feeling alone; drowning in memories of a dead father and a resentful mother. Someone cared enough to look after him; that was the thought that eased him back to sleep.

* * *

The sound of talking roused him from a fitful dream, the noise booming in his too sensitive ears. Heat was radiating from his neck and face as the fever flamed under his skin. A shiver rattled up his spine, shaking his aching bones as his stiff muscles quivered involuntarily. Murphy listened, but it wasn't Clarke's voice that he heard, it was deeper. It was Male. His eyes cracked open and blearily scanned his surroundings. His head was pounding.

"You're giving him medicine?" Murphy heard the voice say, in a low hiss that hurt like a blade cutting across his forehead.

"We don't have medicine." Murphy's concentration instantly sharpened at the steely edge in Clarke's voice. He fought to ignore the aching of his body as he strained to listen.

"Then what's that?" another hiss.

"Herbs." Was Clarke's stony reply.

"Ok so you're giving him _herbs?_ " someone sneered.

"Yes." Clarke retort was cold and clipped.

" _Our_ herbs?!" the growled question was followed by a loud bang that had Murphy tensing. Then Clarke spoke in a voice so calm and quiet that Murphy knew it was fuelled by more anger than her angry shouts ever were.

"This isn't the ark. There aren't _rations_ anymore. You don't have a set allocation of food or water or medicine and once it's used that's it. If we want more food we hunt for more, if we need more herbs we pick more, if there's another party Monty makes more moonshine." She paused for breath and the male wisely remained silent. Some of her restraint slipped and her voice grew steadily louder and angrier as she continued to rant, "So yes, Murphy is hurt and I am giving him herbs to help him heal. I'm going to give him food when he gets hungry and give him water when he gets thirsty. If you have a problem with that then I'll give up _my_ food and water. That will keep the quota in balance right?"

Murphy smirked to himself. That was the no-nonsense Clarke he remembered: the princess who wasn't afraid to voice an opinion or tell people what to do. _But then_ , Murphy wondered, _why had she been acting so differently around him?_ If she still had it in her to be that person why would she show him a different side of herself, a weaker side? Then another thought occurred to him: what if this weaker side of Clarke had always been there, hiding underneath the mask of the princess? Then what he had always thought of as an ego was actually just an armour. What if her conceited pride was just a shield, one that – for some reason – she was no longer putting up in front of him?

* * *

It was an overwhelming thirst that next woke Murphy from sleep. Despite the dryness threatening to spread up his throat and suffocate him from the inside, Murphy could tell that the fever had loosened its grip slightly. Where before his senses had been numb to everything beyond cramps of pain, throbbing muscles and cold sweats; now his senses could reach a little further and take in a little more. He registered time for the first time as he noticed the weak rays of light streaming through a gap in the dropships tarpaulin door. An uncomfortable twinge moved through his stomach – was that hunger maybe? His memories were too fractured - by his initial state of exhaustion and injury, and then the ensuing fever and delirium – for him to know exactly how long he had lain there on that cot under the care of the princess, but it must have been at least a day, likely longer. He shifted, stirring his unused limbs experimentally, testing the now healing injuries from his stay with the grounders. Definitely longer than a day. Turning onto his side Murphy stilled as he noticed Clarke sitting on the floor not far from him, back against the wall, knees pulled up to her chest, just staring at the opposite wall. Murphy studied her for a moment before following her gaze and seeing that the other two cots in the drop ship were now occupied by sleeping figures. Patients, Murphy realised.

"Hey," he said cautiously to her, his voice hoarse with disuse. Clarke's head whipped round to face him, eyes wide with surprise before relaxing, the corner of her mouth twitching up in the most pathetic attempt of a smile he had ever seen from her. The weak near-smile may have been faked but her eyes were still as open and unguarded as they had been recently whenever she looked at him. They both just looked at each other: Murphy seeing the stress lining her mouth and Clarke noting that the glassy look of the fever had eased in his eyes. Eventually she seemed to shake herself out of it and stiffly climbed to her feet, picking up a tray and moving closer.

"Uh here, I got you some food." She said handing him the tray and sitting on the floor next to his cot.

"Thanks." He said, sitting up as he looked over the tray, instantly grabbing the flask of water and taking several long gulps. He set it back on the tray half empty, his eyes flicking to the girl beside him as he reached for some berries, but her attention was back on the other two patients sleeping on the other side of the drop ship.

"What's wrong?" Murphy asked, stopping himself in the last second from tacking on _princess_ to the end of his question, because he actually wanted an honest answer from her, and didn't want her to suddenly get defensive at the use of the nickname and shut him out.

"I'm worried." She answered distractedly, without turning to look at him.

"Already figured that out. Why are you worried?" he encouraged.

"They have the same symptoms you do." She answered, finally turning to face him. When he looked back at her blankly she added, "They were the once who brought you in."

"You think it's the same thing?" he asked with a frown of confusion.

"I don't think it's a coincidence." She told him.

"So it's not an infection?" he asked, remembering what she had said to him while he battled the worst of the fever.

"I have no idea what it is." She said it with such seriousness that she made it sound like a confession.

"Will it get worse?" he continued.

"I don't know." She answered softly, her eyes dropping from his gaze and her face scrunching in a grimace of irritation.

"Will you be able to help?" he pressed.

"I don't know." She sighed wearily. "I don't _know_ enough. I don't _have_ enough." She cast her eyes briefly over the sparse drop ship and the meagre collection of supplies she had amassed for medical use, gathered on a makeshift table in the corner. Then her eyes slid back to the other patients. "And I can't decide if I should tell them that you all have the same thing or not." She sighed again and her shoulders slumped forward as she pulled her knees up to her chest "All in all, I'm pretty useless." He took her in as she sat like that on the floor, her eyes downcast and her expression miserable - she looked so meek. Murphy wondered, in disbelief, how this submissive, scared and fragile young girl could ever possibly build herself up into the strong and confident women that the 100 thought their Princess co-leader and healer was.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because you asked and because I don't want to lie to you." When she looked up at him the expression on her face was sincere. "With everything you've been through I think the least you deserve is my honesty." She paused, seeming to think for a moment. The hypnotic depth of her shimmering eyes seemed to deepen further as a dejected look of acceptance cast a shadow over her face, before she added, "And also, because you already hate me. So even if you know the truth about what I think about this sickness, and how _little_ I can help you, and how _useless_ I am at this whole _'_ _healer'_ thing…I doubt you could hate me anymore than you already must – so I can't disappoint you….I can't fail you, because I already did that." There was no worry swirling in the blue pools of her eyes anymore, they no longer swam with wet sadness, all emotion had vanished leaving her blue stare hollow and empty.

Murphy stared. He was stunned. He shook his head.

"I don't hate you." He didn't realise those words were true until they were coming out of his mouth. Maybe he couldn't have said that a few days ago, but now he was, and he meant it. Hate was for the grounders; those cruel and vicious people who wouldn't understand someone like Clarke; who thought that compassion and kindness and generosity were weaknesses. After days with the grounders his perspective had changed. The 100 were just a group of scared and lonely kids with shitty pasts, who were thrown together and abandoned by the people of the ark. They were really all just the same. And now he was just too tired to hold grudges and harbour hatred for people like that, people just like him, when there were far worse people out there to be worrying about.

"You don't?" she sounded equal parts sceptical and hopeful.

"Do you hate me?" he suddenly asked, doubt creeping into his voice. She was watching him intently as she shook her head. "Why not?" he asked.

"Because we're all just kids who've made mistakes." He gave one nod of his head, satisfied with that answer for now. He didn't have the energy to press her to explain herself more, and he hadn't quite figured out his own thoughts yet either, the remainder of the fever still fogging up his mind. So instead he adjusted his position on the cot, moving his legs so half of it was free and held out the berries to her. Clarke stared for a moment before unfolding herself from her position on the floor and reaching out for the berries. Shuffling closer to the cot she gave him one last examining look before popping a berry in her mouth and settling herself on top of the blankets beside him.

* * *

Blood?! Why was there blood? Sweat prickled along his brow and down his neck. Again something sharp stabbed at his insides like a blade. His stomach twisted. Squirmed. Murphy heaved again. He gagged at the coppery taste of his blood, coughing and spitting on the ground.

"Ok Murphy I need you to think for me." Clarke's voice sounded shriller than usual, tainted by the panic racing through her veins even as she crouched beside Murphy and rubbed soothing circles on his back. "Did you take any hard hits to your stomach or back?" he was already shaking his head to answer 'no' as she muttered under her breath _"_ _organ damage or internal bleeding?"_ But she was talking more to herself than to him, frantically wracking her brain for an answer.

"No," he finally managed to gasp out, "they mainly used knives and whips and hot pokers. The only punches were to my face."

Gasping for air he looked up into her face. Her eyebrows were crinkled together and her eyes stared blankly back at him, not seeing him, looking through him, distracted by her racing thoughts as she fought furiously to think. When her gaze came back into focus and she actually saw him in front of her, horror washed over her features, blowing her eyes wide and pulling her mouth open.

"Oh my god!" she cried. Her eyes were fixed on his in terror as she reached out to touch his face. Murphy froze as her fingers neared then lightly brushed along the corner of his eye. She pulled away, the tips of her fingers stained red. Blood.

"What's happening to me?" he asked in a scared whisper. Clarkes face creased with vexation as she shook her head.

"I don't know. It could be poison…or some kind of virus, maybe… _I don't know_." She groaned.

"Am I going to die?" he asked.

"Not if I can help it." Clarke said.

"I don't want to die!" Murphy whined.

"I'm not going to let you die Murphy." She said firmly, "Ok?"

* * *

Bad. This was very bad.

Clarke always stuck with logic and facts; it was what made her good in a crisis – what would make her a good doctor, her mom had always said. But her brain had skidded and stalled, all thought juddering to a halt. Her palms were already sweating. Tingles of panic were skating down her neck and along her arms as she kept her chin tucked close to her chest and hurried through camp and back to the dropship. Just because her brain had switched itself off to numb her from the impending terror didn't mean that she couldn't still see it flashing on the face of that girl. Clarke clenched her fists at her side to keep her hands from shaking. She didn't have long, that girl probably ran straight to Bellamy to raise the alarm. She ducked into the dropship and stopped. What now? Her breathing was becoming shallow, she could feel it in the exaggerated rise and fall of her chest – panic.

"Princess?"

She didn't answer. Just stared back at him. Murphy's movements were stiff as he started to sit up. His arms trembled slightly as they took his weight. He puffed out a breath, probably in pain. He surveyed her with a frown. He was still sickly pale underneath the patchwork of scarlet cuts and blue bruises, but his eyes were sharper than they had been in days. As she silently observed him she seen him tense and his eyes widen. Then Clarke felt it again, the warmth at the inside corner of her eye. It slipped slowly over the brim, just lick a tear only thicker. She reached up a hand to touch it. Blood. It made a wet smear across her finger tips. At the sight of it her brain came unstuck and the horror came smashing through the numbness, hitting her like a punch to the stomach.

"Blood." She said. Looking back at Murphy, stumbling towards his cot. He had already made room for her. She dropped down beside him, fear turning her limbs to liquid as she went limp, slumping against the cool metal wall behind them and closing her eyes. She felt something press against her hand and opened her eyes to see Murphy leaning towards her with a worried frown, trying to hand her a flask of water.

"I did this." Murphy whispered, looking over at Derek and Conor then back at her, his eyes shadowed by guilt.

"No Murphy the grounders did this. But we are going to fight it, together." She held out her hand, resting it palm up on the blankets between them. Murphy hesitated for a moment but with a deep breath slid his large scarred hand on top of hers. She closed her fingers around his and squeezed reassuringly and he tightened his hold on her hand in return. Together was a whole lot better than alone. Clarke took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Her head began to clear and the panic receded a little.

* * *

"Bellamy stay back." Clarke warned as he came rushing into the dropship.

"Did he do something to you?" Bellamy demanded as he took in the scene with confusion: Clarke and Murphy both pale faced, sitting slumped on the small cot Clarke used for patients. She shook her head and a little of the anger seeped out of his eyes. "What the hell is this?" he asked her.

"Biological warfare. You were waiting for the grounders to retaliate for the bridge? This is it. Murphy is their weapon." Clarke said sadly.

"Is this your revenge, helping the grounders kill us?" Bellamy shouted angrily at Murphy. But Clarke could see past the anger through to all the other emotions pressing up behind it: his irritation towards Murphy, his hatred of the grounders, his fear of failing everyone. Bellamy didn't know how to respond to something like biological warfare, hell neither did she but at least sickness was something she was familiar with, it was something that, when faced with it she knew what to do.

"I didn't know about this, ok, I swear." Murphy insisted. Bellamy clenched his fists tightly and glared down at him.

"Stop lying! When are the coming?" he demanded, prowling closer.

"Bellamy." Clarke warned. She understood his fear, but an anxious Bellamy was aggressive and rash, and she wasn't about to let him take it out on Murphy. "Murphy think, what can you tell us that's useful, did you hear anything?" she leaned towards him and asked softly, her tone almost pleading. Murphy shook his head and swallowed visible. When he looked into her eyes she flinched at the torment she saw reflected in his gaze.

"They are vicious. Cruel."

"You wanna see vicious?" Bellamy growled stepping closer still. Clarke lurched to her feet.

"Hey. Don't. That's enough." Bellamy actually halted at her fierceness. "And stay well back," she added, "whatever this thing is it spreads through contact." She waved her arms at him until he backed several steps away from them both.

"Clarke!" She sighed in exasperation as Finn came racing into the dropship.

"Finn you can't be in here. _No one_ should be in here."

"I heard you were sick." Finn said wide eyed. Clarke absently nodded and turned to sit back down next to Murphy. "Clarke what is this?" From the look on Finn's face Murphy was pretty sure that he was really asking about her so casually sitting down so close to him that their arms brushed. But Clarke answered as if he were asking about the sickness, irritation washing over her face.

"I don't know. Some kind of haemorrhaging fever. We just need to contain it before-"

They all turned as with a load groan Derek jerked and rolled off of the cot he had been sleeping on and started to violently convulse on the floor. Clarke instantly leapt forward to help him. Finn tried to stop her but she was faster, dodging out of his reach as she barked at him not to touch her.

"What the hell is happening to him?" Finn asked her as Clarke crouched over Derek's prone form. She tilted his chin to the side and pressed two fingers to his neck. The convulsions stopped but now his body was too still.

"Is he…?" Bellamy couldn't finish the question. Clarke looked up, her eyes connecting with Murphy's and glistening with barely supressed fear.

"He's dead."

* * *

Any feedback is welcome.


	4. Chapter 4

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Four**

 _[1x10 – 'I Am Become Death']_

"What do we do?" Finn asked frantically, looking at Clarke with a wide eyed desperation that had Murphy fisting handfuls of his blanket in anger. Finn wasn't the one with blood dripping out of his eyes. Clarke and he were the ones exhibiting the exact same symptoms as the guy who just dropped dead in front of them. So why was Finn the one getting hysterical? Couldn't he see the fear in her eyes?

It took Clarke a few minutes to gather herself, but then she swallowed, took a deep breath and a shutter came down, sealing her emotions back inside behind hard blue eyes.

"Quarantine." Clarke instructed Finn and Bellamy as she stood to face them. "Round up anyone who had contact with Murphy. Bring them here." They nodded.

"And everyone _they_ had contact with?" Bellamy asked. Clarke's eyes flickered.

"Well we have to start somewhere." She snapped with the slightest flash of irritation. She turned to the barely conscious figure curled up on the cot next to Derek's, "Conor who was with you when you found Murphy?" Clarke asked, "Who carried him in? Think!" His unfocused eyes rolled from the slumped body of his friend up to the faces of Clarke, Bellamy and Finn standing over him.

"The first one there was Octavia." He rasped, his eye lids heavy and his breathing shallow. Bellamy jerked, his body stiffening. He didn't wait for any further conversation. At the mention if his sisters name his eyes went wide, snapping up to look at Clarke before he spun and rushed out of the dropship. With a searching look at Clarke, Finn silently followed him out a minute later. Clarke watched them leave, remaining in place for several long seconds, waiting. She slowly - steadily - counted down from ten in her head before allowing herself to loosen her grip on the leash she held on her emotions. Freeing her sadness and releasing her fear Clarke allowed the weighed of her responsibility to overwhelm her, and fell to her knees beside Derek's lifeless body with an anguished sob.

* * *

Murphy and Clarke sat together on his cot, cocooned in a still silence. It was a jaded miserable silence, but companionable unlike the loneliness Clarke often dreaded. Together they each wallowed in their fears, whilst savouring the brief calm stillness that had settled over the dropship, knowing that the illusion of peace was about to be shattered at any moment when others would start to arrive. Finn had thought to cover Derek's body with a blanket before he left, but they both sat staring at it now, unable to ignore it. Blanket or not, Clarke and Murphy were both transfixed by the dead body with some kind of petrified revulsion. Derek had gotten sick and now he was dead. They were both sick…

"I'm scared." Her whispered confession felt too loud in the hush that had descended around them.

"Me too." He murmured back. Clarke exhaled a long slow breath.

"I don't have time to be scared. They'll be back soon with others. I don't have time to be sick either. There's too much to do." She didn't sound bitter, Murphy noted, just exhausted. Clarke was the first to move, tearing her gaze away from Derek's body and turning instead to look at the man beside her. While Murphy's skin was naturally pale as marble, Clarke noticed that the sickness gave it a sickly grey hue, while faint smudges of blood cast purple-brown shadows under his nose and around his eyes. Most of the swelling from his beating by the grounders had gone down but a rich pallet of bright purple and deep blue bruises blanketed the majority of his arms and torso, and bordered his grey eyes. Clarkes looked at the sharp blood-red lines that cut across his face in angry slashes and darker coloured scrapes and grazes. She knew they continued down his torso and along his arms, her stomach rolled with yet another wave of – guilt, sympathy, disgust, anger...? So many emotions connected to this face, the face of a man who she realised she didn't even truly know. A thin sheen of sweat bordered his hair line and dipped down his neck, and his hair was still all slicked back from his face from the strokes of her wet cloths. He looked ill – she noted - he looked tired, beaten and underfed, but she didn't think he looked like he was about to convulse on the floor and die. Did he? Clarke frowned.

"You should be resting." She said. He slid his gaze over to her, she saw the last traces of his fear as he turned away from Derek's body before his eyes focused on her. Murphy mirrored her frown.

"So should you." he shot back, taking her by surprise. Clarke raised an eyebrow, her mouth quirking at the corner. "What?" he continued, his tone losing the heavy weight of their serious conversation and turning petulant, verging on grumpy, "You can tell me what to do but I can't tell you what to do?" he asked, "That's hardly democratic." He was teasing her, she realised, deflecting both of their attentions from their worries and distracting them from their symptoms. She wasn't sure if he was doing it on purpose or not - if he was deliberately trying to shake off the sombre atmosphere that had been shrouding them or if it was an unconscious act, like the trademark of many snarky skybox kids who defensively deflect any kind of emotional weakness with insults or humour, or violence - but either way his deflection worked, pulling a genuine, if slightly weak smile from her.

Murphy marginally relaxed at the slight curving of her lips which he recognised as a much diluted version of a smile. He had been shocked and more than a little disturbed as he watched a sobbing princess fall to her knees beside her dead patient the instant the others had left the dropship. Clarke had soothed and comforted him when he had been burning with fever and vomiting blood. It had been her composure, and her promises that he wasn't going to die, that had consoled Murphy through painful days and feverish nights. So to see her so distressed had been almost as frightening for him as vomiting up blood had been.

"Rest." She urged, her features now less strained. "Doctor's orders." She added in a deliberately condescending tone. He snorted, the puff of breath carrying equal parts derision as it did relief at the return of the version of the princess he was used to – the return of his bossy healer princess.

"You're not even a _real_ doctor." He muttered. But even as he said it he had already started moving, lifting his legs back up onto the cot to stretch across the space she had just left. Turning to face the wall he lay on his side and adjusted his blanket, scooting down the cot and curling into her leftover warmth. As his eyes closed Murphy heard her puff out an exhale of amusement and smiled to himself. It would be ok, Murphy thought as he let sleep begin to slowly seep through his mind, his last thought before sliding into slumber was the sound of Clarke's promise to him from earlier in the day _"…_ _we are going to fight it, together."_

* * *

Clarke drew a sleeve across her sweat dampened forehead, trying to ignore the slight shaking in her arm as she raised it, and thought with irony that the quarantine idea had been meant to be a precaution: it had been about having a plan of action to make them feel like they were still in control of a bad situation. It was no longer just a plan, and she was definitely no longer in control. The idea of enacting a quarantine for those first in contact with Murphy had quickly escalated to a full blown quarantine zone with procedures and segregation. Those who had had contact but weren't exhibiting symptoms were on the upper levels of the dropship, in their own isolation from the occupants of the ground level, those who were sick. There were a lot of sick people now.

Murphy lay on his cot and watched the steady flow of patients entering the dropship with every hour that passed: vomiting, leaking blood, shivering with fever. He thought his own fever might have finally lifted: his head felt clearer, he was no longer drowsy or confused and there was no cold sweat trickling over his skin or shakes tremoring through his muscles and bones. His entire body still throbbed and ached with spasm of pain, but how much of that was from illness and how much was from his injuries he couldn't tell. He adjusted his blanket more securely around his shoulders and looked down at the blood stained rag he held in his hand. It had been almost two hours now since his last nose bleed. Was he getting better, or was he still in danger of ending up like Derek? He pulled at his blanket again and reached for a flask of water: he would stay warm, stay hydrated and rest. That was his plan. That was what he would do, because that was all he could do, that was all Clarke managed to do for any of the other patients. Murphy's eyes sought her out now, watching as she tended to a young girl whose chalk-white face made a startling contrast to her bleeding eyes. Clarke was also looking pale, and the reddish smudges under her eyes had gotten steadily darker with each time her eyes leaked bloody tears and she distractedly smeared them away. Murphy had watched her intently over the last several hours as her condition rapidly deteriorated. With each new patient that arrived in the dropship she handed out blankets, and herb-and-seaweed water, and kept telling them all to rest. But Clarke wasn't resting. Murphy watched as she ran around after them all, fussing: tucking in blankets, wiping sweaty foreheads with damp clothes, and listening to every single moan and groan they made. Finally she approached him, her movements sluggish. A heavy weight sat in his stomach - Clarke had treated his injuries, cared for him, stood up for him against Bellamy and the others; and now she was getting ill from a sickness _he_ had brought back into the camp and given her. Something in his chest tightened.

"You look like crap Princess." he said with a frown.

"Thanks Murphy." She murmured dryly.

"You need to rest." Said Murphy.

"I will." She nodded distractedly, "But first I need to have a word with Bellamy, we're going to need more boiled water and we're running low on seaweed." Murphy watched her shuffle slowly towards the door; her movements too sluggish. He hesitated then groaned in annoyance as he tugged off his blanket and clambered off of his cot. He hurried after her, stopping just short of the door and peeking out through the canvas to listen in to the two leaders.

"Octavia you ok in there?" Murphy tensed as he heard Bellamy call out to his sister and Clarkes responding sigh in defeat.

"I sent her to see Lincoln." She wearily admitted, "If there's a cure he has it." The obvious drowsiness in her voice was what made Murphy finally push the thick curtain aside and edge outside onto the ramp. Murphy squinted against the harsh light - the first he had seen in days - as he observed the group's leaders.

"If anything happens to her you and I are going to have a problem." Bellamy growled. Murphy inched closer, stopping just behind Clarke.

"Bellamy." She called after him groggily. Murphy stepped up to her side but before he had a chance to coax her back into the dropship a scream ripped through the air and everyone froze.

People scattered, frantically scrambling away from a pair of bleeding eyes in the middle of the crowd… Then again, more jostling to create a wide berth for the bleeding eyes on someone else… And a bleeding nose somewhere else. Then another scream – someone fell in a fevered faint. Hysteria erupted, people pushing and shoving. Another person dropped to their knees and vomited. A shout. Panic flared. Voices yelled. Panic swept over the camp like a swollen yellow cloud of acid fog; swift and deadly. It polluted the air with an overwhelming pungency, hitting the camp with a sharp and sudden sting that had everyone recoiling. People begin to push at each other frantically. The crowd churned with barely supressed chaos. People stumbled, people ran, people brandished knives and guns, shoving and shouting in panic.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Staccato cracks of gunfire rang out across the camp as Clarke fired a gun into the air. Everyone froze.

"This is exactly what the grounders want." Clarke spoke quietly - woozily - but her voice carried clearly across the silent camp. "Don't you see that? They don't have to kill us if we kill each other first." An angry youth stalked towards her with his own gun trained towards her.

"They won't have to kill us if we all catch the virus. Get back in the damn dropship!" But Bellamy reacted first: swiftly moving in and disarming him with an efficient manoeuvre. Silence held as the camp watched on, holding their breaths, and waiting for their leaders to take control and fix things.

"I hate to state the obvious," said Bellamy "but your quarantine isn't working."

But Clarke didn't have a solution this time. And for once she couldn't even bring herself to try to suggest any possible options. She was too tired. She was too weak. She was too hot - the sweat trickling along her brow and down her spine even as she felt herself shiver. The world spun, tilted and then she was falling. Clarke knew she had lost her fight against the virus a split second before the last dregs of energy oozed out of her muscles and her knees buckled underneath her. There was a rush of air and then-

But the pain didn't come. Instead of the hard impact she expected her fall was broken by something warm and solid. She looked up blearily, and blinked at the face frowning down at her, taking several seconds to focus before she realised she was looking up at Murphy. He had caught her?

"Murphy. I'm ok."

"Sure you are Princess." He huffed as he gingerly adjusted his arms around her, manoeuvring her where she rested against him to hold her more securely against his chest.

"You caught me" Clarke said weakly as her sluggish brain slowly realised what has happened. She watched as his frown turned into a scowl. But she didn't really notice this, instead her attention was focused on what she could feel: after trembling all afternoon under the pressure of the virus her arms and legs felt boneless where they hung from Murphy's arms. It was nice there, she thought, leaning against something that was warm and soft but strong. A stray thought flitted across her mind – that she never would have realised he was strong enough to hold her. Then Clarke realised how nice it felt to be looked after for once instead of doing the looking after. She had needed to take a break, needed to rest. Hadn't Murphy told her exactly that less than five minutes ago? Murphy had caught her. This all fired quickly through her head in the space of a few seconds whilst she stared up into eyes that were a pale blue. Had she known that before? But she was interrupted from her wandering thoughts as a small commotion broke out near the gate and a burst of motion rippled through the camp. Heads turned, the crowd curved, making space as Octavia pushed to the centre of the camp.

The look of fierce determination on her face faltered slightly as she stopped beside Bellamy, her eyes fixed on a sick Clarke slumped in the arms of Murphy.

"Octavia." Bellamy prompted.

"There's no cure." She breathed, her eyes flicking anxiously from Clarke and Murphy to look at Bellamy as she added, "But the grounders don't use the sickness to kill. They are attacking at first light."

It would have been very easy in the moments following Octavia's announcement for the camp to descend back into the panic that had engulfed it minutes before. But Bellamy reacted before that could happen, the gravity of their situation spurring him into action as he took control of the camp once more. He issued several commands in quick succession - ordering all the sick into the dropship and everyone else back to work - his authority and determination pushing everyone to act with a renewed urgency.

As the buzz of activity picked up around them Clarke felt the cloudy threads of her consciousness slipping away from her. She groaned, her head lolling forward to rest on Murphy's shoulder. He gave a grunt. He was still weak, the muscles up his arms and across his back burned under Clarkes weight. He could feel one of the bigger slashes on his side stinging as the healing skin was pulled and stretched, but he ignored it.

"I need you to hold on Princess." He gritted out.

"Mmm..." was her only answer

"Clarke you have to hold on to me." he barked more harshly. Finally seeming to understand her arms came up and wrapped around his neck.

"That's it." He said gripping her tighter and turning back towards the dropship. Octavia rushed forward, scooping up the gun Clarke had dropped before he tripped over it.

"Come on I'll help you get Clarke back inside." She said as she rushed passed him up the ramp to pull aside the parachute curtain.

* * *

 _All feedback is welcomed..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Five**

 _[1x10 – 'I Am Become Death']_

Murphy lumbered slowly past Octavia and into the dropship, paying careful attention to the heavy load he carried, even as his arms started to tremble under her weight and too many days of being weakened by fever and healing injuries. He moved carefully, mindful of his depleted strength and conscious of the fact that Clarke's head had dropped like a heavy weight onto his shoulder some minutes ago - her forehead tucked into his neck, her arms dangling over his shoulders and her legs sagging over his arm - she was limp and unmoving, and therefore probably unconscious. He worried that if he jostled her too much the precarious hold he had on her - with her weight carefully balanced against him - would falter and he would drop her. Octavia let the curtain fall closed behind Murphy then turned to survey the dropship interior.

"Shit." She swore softly. They were faced with an uncomfortably overcrowded dropship: sick bodies and makeshift beds strewn across the floor. Slumped sleeping bodies were propped up against the walls or one another, while others lay collapsed and prone on the floor. The room was littered with an array of water flasks and food bowls and a patchwork of blankets were spread out before them, filling every available surface and cluttering the cramped space. "Where are we going to put her?" Octavia asked, her eyes scanning over all of the sick with a sad frown. With a grunt Murphy jerked his head towards a still vacant rumpled cot in the back corner.

"That one's mine." He said then started edging around sleeping bodies towards it. Again Octavia leapt forward to help, darting in front of Murphy and working as best she could to carve out a path for him, clearing a passable trail around the dozens of shivering patients and their bundles of blankets, bloody cloths and flasks of lukewarm seaweed tea, as they weaved their way to Murphy's cot on the far side of the room.

* * *

Octavia was placing a freshly soaked cloth on her forehead when Clarke stirred. Groaning and blinking repeatedly, she squinted up at the figure beside her in confusion.

" 'Tavia?" her dry mouth and swollen throat made her voice thick and croaky " 'm sorry I sent you to see Lincoln." Clarke mumbled sleepily.

"That's ok I'm back now." Octavia assured her gently. "Now we know when the grounders are coming and we can be ready." The younger girl was doing her best to be reassuring and positive, trying to channel the way she had witnessed Clarke and Bellamy speak when they were acting as leaders to the camp. But it didn't seem to matter, Murphy was sure that Clarke was too out of it to fully understand what either she or the brunette were talking about.

"Bellamy was really mad," was Clarke's response. "Hope he's not angry with you."

"He'll get over it." Octavia dismissed with a shrug, failing to hide her smile at the dreamy demeanour of their normally serious and overbearing leader.

"So I'm not going to die from the grounders' sickness?" Clarke asked, which quickly wiped away all traces of Octavia's amusement.

"Lincoln says they don't use it to kill." Octavia repeated "He said he knew I wouldn't get sick so I guess some people don't even get infected by it," she explained thoughtfully. "You're strong so you'll be fine. We'll have you better in no time." Octavia told her as she fussed with Clarke's blanket, unable to look the sick girl in the eye and promise her it would be ok. Clarke just nodded her head, like a naive child easily consoled – so unlike the Clarke they were used to.

"An' Murphy's not going to die either, right?" Her eyes had been drifting shut but sprang back open and bounced between Octavia and Murphy looking for an answer.

"You're better." She said to Murphy. Telling him rather than asking him.

"Yeah I'm better." He agreed. Realising for the first time in hours how long it had been since he last vomited or had a nose bleed. He really was better.

"And I'm better." She said.

"No not yet," he frowned and told her softly. "You've got a fever. But you'll be fine." But she didn't seem to hear him.

"It's all better." She continued. "You're better, I'm better, we're all going to be better this time. We won't make the same mistakes." At the mention of mistakes a chill ran through Murphy's blood as he realised she wasn't talking about their health when she spoke about being _'better'_. His heart squeezed in understanding of that guilt and regret. "I'm so glad you came back Murphy." Her eyelids started to droop again as sleep forced them closed, "You're better. And I'm better. It'll be better this time." She repeated in a whisper. With that she was asleep and Murphy could only stare down at her pale clammy face in shock, wishing that the younger Blake hadn't been there to witness that strange exchange.

* * *

Murphy's fingers dug deeper into the flesh of Clarke's biceps as she trembled and hung over the edge of the cot, leaning further out as another wretch ripped at her insides and tore up her throat. Murphy cringed at the sound. Her body shuddered in his hold and the heat of the fever burned through her sweat dampened clothes. When he was sure she was finished Murphy helped her pull herself back onto the cot, her limbs flopping like jelly from the exertion of throwing up yet again. Tears coated her cheeks, salt water tears not the blood tears of the grounder sickness. The air was pulled sharply out of his lungs as he noticed them, his guilt crushing his chest. This was his fault. He had made her sick. She had looked after him and been kind to him since he had come back to the camp and _this_ was what she got for it. He gently adjusted her position on the cot, making sure the thin blanket covered her properly, anxious that she got what little protection and comfort it could offer.

Clarke swiped the back of her hand across her mouth with a grimace and watched him.

"You're helping me." Her voice was scratchy and hoarse.

"Yeah." He answered tightly, not meeting her eyes as he turned to grab a cloth and some water. "You helped me." He said a bit defensively. She nodded and sighed as he mopped her sweaty brow, her eyes fluttering shut. Murphy thought she had fallen back to sleep when she spoke again.

"You said you don't hate me. Is that really true? You should. Why don't you hate me John?" Murphy tensed. The words came out in one long stream of consciousness like they were thoughts rather than actual questions for him to answer. So he didn't answer and he told himself that it was because of the airy tone of voice and glassy glaze over her eyes which assured him she wouldn't remember this anyway once the fever lifted. But there was a faint whisper in his ear telling him that he didn't answer because he didn't _know_ the answer. He didn't hate her – that was true. He _should_ hate her – that was also true. So why _didn't_ he…?

"People don't like you very much." Her words pulled him out of his thought and he turned to find her watching him, looking far less sleepy and delirious than he had thought.

"No." he confirmed looking away from her face.

"You're mean and kind of a bully." Her tone was neutral but her words jabbed at Murphy painfully. His jaw flexed. "But I don't care about that." She continued. He frowned, eyes snapping to her in confusion.

"You don't?" he asked sceptically.

"Nope." A smile spread across her face then. It was loose and laced with the drugging inhibitions of fevered delirium. " 'Cause people don't like me either. But I'm going to like you." She reached out with a finger and stroked a feather light touch along the line of one of the healing gashes across his cheek. It took a concerted evert not to flinch away from such a tender touch.

"You are?" there was the slightest tremble in his voice, panic at the show of… What was it? Compassion? Kindness? Friendship? Murphy didn't have the word to describe the way Clarke had acted towards him since his return. He didn't understand it, it was unfamiliar to him.

"Uh huh." She nodded. Murphy wanted to believe that the sparks dancing in her smiling eyes were from genuine emotion rather than fever. "I'm going to be your friend. Even if you don't want me to. I'll be nice, and helpful, and I won't get annoyed or angry even if you're mean to me. I won't be mean to you again. And I won't let Bellamy banish you."

* * *

Sluggishly Clarke pulled herself forcefully out of a deep black abyss. It was a slow and meticulous climb that she felt she had been trying to summit many times before she finally succeeding in hauling herself up over the ledge of sleep and into consciousness. Eventually Clarke was awake. She knew she was awake. But her brain was still lethargically rebooting which left her foggy and disoriented. Things gradually began to surface in her mind. Awareness. Memories. Understanding. All steadily solidifying from wispy vapours, to blurs and flashes, to a jumble of disorganised thoughts.

The dropship! That's where she was - in the dropship - she was sure. The coppery smell of blood itched at her nose. The sour stench of sweat, unwashed bodies and vomit mingled in the heavy air of the enclosed space. The blanket she was cocooned in carried another scent on it, masked slightly by the more persistent odours of sweat and blood and seaweed, it was softer and nicer to breathe in. She burrowed her nose into the scratchy fabric and inhaled. Murphy. She was on Murphy's cot.

It felt like she had been sleeping for days. Maybe she had, hadn't Murphy done just that when they brought him to her after the grounders tortured him. Clarke didn't like the unsettling thought of losing time: losing days from her life - snatched away from her while she slept. It felt strangely vulnerable. To be helpless and exposed for so long, and completely unaware at the same time. The feel of sweat and grime and grit coating her skin and her straggly matted hair were all indications of the passing of time. Also the fact that - despite how dirty and weak she felt - she actual felt better. Thirsty, hungry and weak, but well. Because before the blackness swallowed her she had been ill. Everyone had been getting sick, she remembered.

A sudden remembrance of the dozens of patients she had had before she succumbed to the illness herself made her tense, her heart starting to race. The responsibility of caring for all the others; she had let them down. Were they suffering? With a great deal of effort Clarke pushed up, levering up on her forearms and wedging her elbows under her, her eyes scanned the dropship, raking over each body critically. Some were still visibly sick and suffering…but others were there helping them. Others looked like her and Murphy – better, recovering. Clarke spotted one or two figures, frighteningly still and covered head to toe by blankets. She looked quickly away, not yet strong or focused enough to deal with what she knew that meant.

Her eyes wandered to a hunched figure she recognised as Bellamy. He looked sick, his nose bleeding. Murphy was trying to hand him a rag and water. She couldn't hear them but could see the tension in both of their postures and the sneer on Bellamy's face as he stubbornly shoved Murphy's hands away. Murphy's eyes narrowed into a dark scowl and Clarke saw rather than heard him spit out heated words which had Bellamy barring his teeth in anger. But before he could reply Octavia was upon them and Clarke watched in astonishment as both men froze and Octavia began to sternly scold the pair. Clarke watched on wide-eyed and stunned at the strange spectacle: two of the group's oldest and most imposing males being rebuked by a little brunette who barely reached their shoulders. Even more astonishing was the matching sheepish expressions on Murphy and Bellamy's faces. Murphy was starring resolutely at Octavia's boots, scuffing the toe of his own into the ground while Bellamy sat with his head ducked and shoulders hunched. An unexpected warmth expanded throughout Clarke's chest and a bubble of laughter swelled up, squeezed between her lungs and out in a light sound that floated over the top of a shuddering breath.

Octavia stood with one hand on her hip the other pointing an angry and accusing finger back and forth between the men in a way that threatened violence beyond what her size would suggest her capable of. There was a pause then a fierce stomp of Octavia's foot had Bellamy cringing and Murphy jerking his head up to reluctantly look at the Blake siblings. Clarke watched with a smile as Murphy's face contorted into a sour look, he moodily turned to Bellamy and grudgingly muttered something through barely moving lips. Bellamy now looked queasy and even paler as, with a tired sigh, he mumbled something back. They both glanced reproachfully at Octavia who gave a sharp nod. Bellamy snatched up the dropped cloth and Murphy quickly scampered off. _Octavia had made them apologise to each other._ A louder laugh frothed in her throat at the realisation and her cheeks stretched with the smile that was pulling at her lips. _Go Octavia!_

Octavia….

She was connected to the sickness…

Because she went to see Lincoln about a cure.

It was a grounder sickness.

Biological warfare.

They were going to _attack_!

The sudden rush of blood in her head left her feeling lightheaded. It pounded noisily through her ears as panic sailed through her veins. Everything came flooding back in an overwhelming wave of feelings and a flash of images. But before she could work herself up into a frenzy that would have her falling back into the black abyss of unconsciousness in a faint, someone was beside her and she irrationally felt less afraid simply because she was no longer alone.

"Clarke? Hey, you're ok. Breathe Princess!" A familiar voice spoke as a body sat down next to her.

"Murphy! The grounders. The sickness. They're attacking. When-? Have they-? I thought-? Wh-wh-what's-?" violent pants pumped at her lungs and diaphragm as she pulled in air too rapidly. Her chest ached. Her mouth went dry and the muscles in her throat convulsed.

"Jesus Clarke stop!" Murphy shouted as he reached out and gripped her firmly. "It's ok. Take a deep breath." He demanded, a hand moving to her back and rubbing with soothing pressure. She sucked in a breath, then another, gasping for more.

"Octavia came back from seeing Lincoln. She said they were attacking at first light?" Clarke continued frantically.

"That was yesterday. I'll tell you what you've missed but you need to not freak out ok? Just stay calm." Murphy urged. She nodded. Forcing her breaths to slow down and lengthen.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"I remembered some things, from when I was captured by the grounders: there's this bridge… Anyway we blew it up. Raven made a bomb with rocket fuel from the exodus crash site. The bridge is destroyed, they can't come that way now." He explained.

"When?" the question was as flimsy as the exhale it floated out on, but she was no longer hyperventilating at least.

"You got sick early yesterday. Raven blew the bridge last night after dark. It's now the day after, only a couple hours until dark." Murphy said.

"I was out for over 24hours?" she asked stunned.

"Yeah." He nodded with a grim expression.

"So we're…ok?" she hesitated, not really sure how to properly put into words what she wanted to know.

"We've delayed them. We bought ourselves time to prepare…but they're still going to come." Now that her panic had subsided Clarke recognised the subtle lines of fear in his grave face.

"But we'll be ready for them. We'll have recovered from the sickness. That's good news. Is Raven ok after the bomb? She's not hurt?" Clarke's thoughts ricocheted from one thought to the next, still trying to get a grip on everything. Murphy quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Think we would have let you sleep in all day if Raven needed a doctor?" He teased and she finally relaxed, slumping back onto the bundle of covers with a smile and huffed a laugh as the tension poured out of her.

* * *

Dark had fallen several hours ago. The camp was still a hive of activity despite the late hour. Even more scouts than usual were patrolling the perimeter with guns and watchful eyes. Clarke watched the tree line, her eyes desperately seeking to penetrate the dark as her ears strained to pick up any approaching sound. Still no grounder attack; they had delayed them by a full day, but for how much longer?

It was strange Clarke thought, how much quieter it was out here, when there was only a crudely assembled wall separating her from the 100 and their camp. Except there weren't 100 anymore. Her lungs constricted with a painful jolt as she looked over their graveyard. It had grown far quicker than she would have imagined. Once it was obvious that there was no radiation to kill them, Clarke had been naively optimistic about the 100's chances for survival, even after their first encounter with the grounders. Maybe that naivety was part of the reason there were so many freshly dug graves before her now.

"You're outside the wall without a gun." Bellamy's voice was low and accusation lined his words but there was no force behind the reprimand so she ignored it. She knew her reason wasn't good enough - that she just couldn't bear the thought of caring something with her that was meant for killing someone when she would never have the heart to use it, not so soon after seeing so much death from the sickness.

"Fourteen graves." Clarke said as he came to stand beside her.

"We need to talk about Murphy." It seemed that they were each just going to ignore the things they didn't want to talk about.

"He was right about the bridge." Clarke told him, not feeling any need to ignore this topic.

"We'll see." Bellamy sounded uncertain. Clarke wasn't sure if he was still unconvinced by Murphy or if his concern was about their effectiveness in halting the grounder attack by bombing the bridge.

"We need as many soldiers as we can get." Clarke urged. He frowned at her.

"So what, we have pardon power now?" there was uncertainty again but this tone she recognised as a reflection of her own insecurity in their ability to run things. Bellamy doubted and second guessed decisions just as often as she did, Clarke had come to learn. While she suspected that most of the 100 would have been disheartened by the hesitance of each of their leaders, especially from a man who had campaigned for his power and influence under the slogan _'_ _whatever the hell we want'_ , it had comforted Clarke to realise Bellamy struggled just as much as she did with their roles of being in charge.

"It's hard running things." Clarke smiled wryly up at him. He scowled at her. She knew that if he had any real objections to Murphy he would have made them by now. Clarke turned her attention back to the graves at her feet, eyes sweeping over them each in turn one last time as she pictured each of the patients she hadn't been able to save.

"Fourteen." She said sadly, turning and walking away, back towards the gates.

"Clarke." Bellamy called, turning to face her. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. "I'll see about getting Murphy a tent first thing tomorrow." She smiled back at him then headed back into the camp, with at least some of the pressure lifted off her shoulders.

* * *

 _Thank you to everyone who has read, and reviewed, and followed, and favorited. I wasn't sure this story would be very well received but it seems I'm not the only one with a fancy for Clarke/Murphy. I'm so glad people are liking it._

 _Any feedback is always welcomed...so review and tell me what y'all think!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Six**

 **Clarke's P.O.V.**

The atmosphere in the 100s camp was tense. For two days the air crackled with nervous anticipation as they waited… And waited. The sky and wind and air seemed to press down heavily on them all as their nerves began to fray and splinter. The time taunted them as it passed, building them up and leading them to a precarious crescendo.

The grounders were coming.

Soon.

The only way to stay sane, Clarke found, was to stay busy. Which wasn't a problem as it seemed the knowledge of a pending invasion resulted in a massive amount of preparation. Weapons had to be made, or cleaned and stockpiled; food and water had to be gathered, prepared and stored; and security increased dramatically, with guard and watch shifts being doubled round the clock while reinforcements were added to the supports of the wall and the gate. Clarke hoarded rags of cloth for bandages, ground seaweed for antiseptic, and sorted through any odds and ends she could find in an attempt to make some kind of practical use out of them, be it medical or otherwise. They overwhelmed themselves with extensive preparations. Clarke watched on as people immersed themselves fully into the most mundane tasks with a dedication and vigour she had never seen before, not even on the ark. As though all the hard work that had to come first could somehow delay what was coming after it.

So for what must have been the first time in her life Clarke found that she was actively seeking out company, tucking herself into groups and sinking into the community. Conversations and interactions wrapped around her as she worked side by side with friends, letting their exchanges and connections comfortably swaddle her in a blanket of social interactions. Clarke mentally traced a finger along each emotional link through the camp, from person to person, camp fire to camp fire. Each bond of friendship or camaraderie that weaved its way through all 100 until they were all linked as a community by more than just being there together, or having come from the ark together. With a cold ache of melancholy wrapping tightly around her ribs Clarke realised that the 100 had built themselves into more of a community than the populations of the ark had ever been. Her breathing grew pained as she realised how much peril that community was in now. They had to do everything they could to fight the grounders. _Anything_ they could.

But pressure was building inside the camp; nerves and anticipation were swelling and buffeting up against the restrictions of the wall. Tension was bleeding through the cracks and building momentum as the 100 anxiously waited for the inevitable under a tension that was so taut it would soon snap. Violently.

Clarkes blood was boiling through her veins as she stomped away from yet another fight, the third she'd had to break up this morning. Only this time it had been Murphy. Her heart clenched at the image of him taking another shove and resolutely not reacting to it. Once again she found herself searching for simple and easy chatter to immerse herself in, to distract from the pain in her chest that lead to thoughts of grounders, that led to fear, that led to-.

A distraction.

She needed the type of socializing that she had always avoided during her life on the ark - seeing it as superficial - but craved now as something to soak up and revel in, as proof of a healthy and happy camp. She wanted to lose herself in the teasing, gossiping and giggling of teenage lives - anything to help her forget how grave their situation was soon about to become. As she boiled off a large pot of water for a second batch of seaweed antiseptic tea, Clarke let herself get distracted by the vapid rantings of two young girls who were discussing the admirable qualities of some boy they both liked as they worked nearby. Their frantic whispers were punctuated with bursts of hushed giggles that had Clarke's heart clenching and her eye softening as she watched them from the corner of her eye while they filled and sealed a stock of water flasks from the camp water tank. She let their dialogue flow over her and consume her, sucking her into their world. This filled Clarke's head for almost forty minutes as she admired their friendship with its trust and shared secrets, admired their feelings so innocent and sweet and freely given, and puzzled over whether or not she was picturing the right guy; since she was quite sure the object of their affection, the _'yummy-enough-to-eat'_ hunter was a good three years older than them, and already had a girlfriend.

"Hey which one of them is Marc." Clarke asked Octavia as soon as she plopped down beside her. Octavia held her hands towards Clarke's cooking far to absorb some of its heat as she scanned the group working on the wall reinforcements.

"The long haired one sharpening that…tool thing. Why?" She answered, turning back to Clarke with a confused look. Everyone knew Clarke Griffin was _'too busy for petty gossiping'_ , as was her usual answer whenever the meaner side of girls would start to shine through and threaten to bite at her. Clarke shrugged casually.

"Oh you know, just camp gossip." She smiled brightly. Pleased to have surprised Octavia and eager to cling onto her light-hearted mood for as long as she possibly could. "I think I've discovered a love triangle." The brightness in her smile had sharpened into gleefulness as she teased the younger girl, but then it vanished as soon as Octavia's own expression morphed quickly from shocked to calculating. Clarke knew instantly that the light-heartedness was over.

"Speaking of love triangles," Octavia started slowly, her eyes raking over Clarke evaluating "what's going on with you and Finn?" The sickening twist in her gut at the mention of _that_ mistake reminded Clarke why she usually hated gossip so much.

"Nothing!" She gritted out, more forcefully than was necessary in her frustration and impatience for any association between herself and Finn to be forgotten.

"Just checking." Octavia instantly brightened, hold her hands up in surrender and grinning at her. "I didn't think there was. I wanted to make sure." Something of to the side caught her eye and she added in a thoughtful murmur, "Which just makes it even stranger."

"What?" Clarke frowned.

"That." Octavia nodded in the direction of the tent which was currently a makeshift ammunitions factor as Raven, Monty and Jasper worked on recreating Raven's rocket-fuel bridge bomb into a more combat appropriate form.

Raven and Finn stood in front of the tent. Raven was barely outside of the canvas, arms folded firmly across her chest, hip popped out to the side. Finn seemed to be pleading with her, arms spread out wide in an open gesture, reaching out to her. Raven wouldn't look at him. She stood stiff and unmoving with a demeanour that was so cold it was almost palpable.

Clarke was confused. This was the kind of scene she had feared when Raven had first arrived. The kind of fight she had dreaded being pinned in the middle of. For days after Ravens arrival Clarke felt like she was holding her breath through each passing hour just waiting for the world to fall apart around her. But amazingly it had never happened. She had made it as clear as possible to both of them, without actually saying it, that she was out. She had taken a respectful if somewhat shameful and humiliated step back and made it obvious she was not interested in being involved in _anything_. At all. And it had seemed to work. Raven - as strong and amazing as she was - seemed able to brush everything aside and move passed it. Finn and Raven were fine. Or so it had seemed to Clarke. Had she missed something? Familiar shivers of guilt and disgust crawled across her skin at the thought of the betrayal she had unconsciously committed and a shot of fear flared in her that she was somehow still involved. Perhaps it was just amplified for her by her own fear and sensitivity towards this particular conflict but as she watched them it seemed like the tension between Raven and Finn was even worse now than it had been when Raven first arrived and discovered Clarke and Finn's affair.

"How long have they been like that?" Other girls would have made a big deal about Clarke asking that kind of question about the relationship she had unknowingly got in the middle of. They would have made assumptions and poked at her with questions, mixing up gossip and passing it along until stories and accusations were being freely swapped around the evenings dinner campfires. But not Octavia, she recognised the genuine note of concern in the blonde's voice. So both her tone and her expression were soft and kind when she answered the question honestly.

"Since you got sick." Clarke turned her attention from the couple to Octavia, surprised and confused. "Apparently the way Finn reacted to you collapsing made Raven think he still cares about you. Which I guess wouldn't have been that bad if it wasn't for the fact that he then _hesitated_ to help Raven with the bomb. Which has got her thinking that he cares about you _more_ than he cares about her. And that's bad." Clarke openly flinched at the feeling of guilt all slimy and disgusting as it squirmed through her stomach. Octavia regarded her appraisingly then asked: "So if they break up do you think…in time…you and Finn…?" She let her suggestion hang there unspoken, watching carefully to gauge Clarke's reaction.

"Ew! No." Clarke answered quickly, glancing over at the warring couple with a grimace and turning back to Octavia shaking her head. "Not interested." She said firmly, chasing away the thought with a shudder. Giving a thoughtful hum Octavia transformed quickly, dropping her serious frowns and assessing stares, slipping on a conspiratorial smile that had Clarke instantly nervous.

"What?" she couldn't keep the tell-tale ring of dread out of her question. Octavia laughed at her.

"I'm just wondering if you're _not_ interested in Finn because you're interested in _someone else_...Maybe Murphy?" Clarke's eyes grew comically wide. She found herself choking on air as she gasped in shock whilst simultaneously seeming to forget how to breathe all at the same time. She fumbled her stirring rod, dropping it into the boiling water and almost scalding herself.

"Wh-what?" she managed to splutter around a dry cough. Another delighted laughed issued from Octavia.

"I've been watching you two." She said with a one-shouldered shrug and a coy smile that told Clarke the girl would not be letting this idea go anytime soon. "I've seen how nice he is to you, even although he's still a bastard to everyone else. And you're always _watching_ him and going to talk to him."

"It's not like that." Clarke urged. Her mind jumped to this morning when Justin had been provoking him so cruelly. Clarke felt the emotions she had felt then swell up in her chest again in a jumbled knot and struggled to separate them into nameable strands, but couldn't. She frowned.

"Oh. Ok." but it didn't sound sincere. Clarke started to protest only to splutter some more as she distractedly reached for the stirring rod again only to yank her hand away with a hiss of pain, having forgotten it would still be too hot to touch. Clarke felt the heat from the burn across her pam spread up her neck in a flush and into her cheeks, she was shocked and flustered and that only made her angry but she tripped clumsily over her objects before she could even get them out. With a groan she gave up trying to explain herself and with a look at the grin on Octavia's face she realised it would have been pointless to even try. Utterly shell-shocked by Octavia's suggestion, terrified of what it might lead the impulsive girl to _say_ or _do_ next, and in a state of inner turmoil as she tried to settle her own thoughts and form her own opinion on the idea; Clarke had never before been so pleased and so relieved to hear Bellamy Blake's voice.

"Octavia! Why are you just sitting about? Leave Clarke alone and come and help us with the food: the last hunt still has to be skinned." A wave of irritation washed over Octavia's features promptly sweeping away the mischievous quirk from her lips. Rolling her eyes she pushed herself to her feet with a frustrated groan.

"God! How can you stand to listen to him all the time? He's so annoying." Octavia whined as she brushed the dirt off her pants and headed away from the small cooking fire. Clarke laughed softly then finding her voice again she called after her as she walked away.

"Don't fight with him. I've been splitting up fights all day, I'm too busy to come and play council-person to the two of you too." In response Octavia shot her a dark look over her shoulder.

"Hey, don't think this is over." She called out. A smug and satisfied smile appeared when she saw Clarke cringe and quickly look away, her attention falling back to her seaweed tea to avoid the conversation going any further.

* * *

Clarke groaned and mentally cursed Octavia as yet again she found her thoughts straying to Murphy. Her mind kept rotating between replaying this morning's confrontation between him and Justin, and trying to wrap her head around Octavia's ridiculous suggestion...

Murphy?

Her being interested in Mu- No! _No._

It was ridiculous.

She couldn't even bring herself to finish the thought inside her own head. The idea had never been in her head until Octavia forced it in there with her silly questions and teasing. And if she had never thought it before then it obviously wasn't the case, because she would know if she was interested in M-

But she wasn't. No. Ridiculous…So why then did her mind keep pulling distractingly at her concentration, as she tried to listen to the conversations going on around her, tugging her attention inside towards the buzzing hive of her own thoughts? Her eyes absently skimmed across the camp, not really registering what they were seeing as they skating over each body, each face, until they landed on Murphy and stopped. Her eyes had been locked on him for several minutes before Clarke realised what she was doing. She was watching him. Why? Octavia had said she watched him. How often did she do this without realising it? What else had Octavia said: that she talked to him; that he was nicer to her than he was to others. Was that true?

She paid attention now as her eyes picked him out from amongst a group working on the wall. It was laborious work. Only Bellamy and the other older and stronger males of the camp were able to do this kind of work. They carted in big rocks and boulders, stacking them along the base of the wall to sure up its foundations; they hauled large branches and tree trunks and dug them into deep divots as support beams. Despite the coolness in the air Murphy had removed his jacket and the exertion of the work made his t-shirt damp and clingy with sweat. With his arms, face and neck all freely exposed Clarke could see the sites of some of his grounder injuries, all of which were healing well. The bruises were fading to blotchy greens and yellows, she observed, which meant it was over a week since he had come back to camp, closer to two weeks probably.

When they first came to earth the 100 had been an unsettled and volatile group for weeks. It had seemed impossible that she would convince anyone to do anything practical or to work as a community to keep them alive. At one stage Clarke had hopelessly thought that they would descend into anarchy, or worse _tyranny_ – with an obnoxious Bellamy rallying the mob at his will. But with the help of people like Wells and Jasper and Monty and Octavia and Finn, she had slowly started to get things done and more importantly to get people to listen to hear. Over time the novelty of earth and freedom wore off and the 100 started settle and consolidate into a camp. She and Bellamy had eventually managed to work together in a strange power dynamic that was accepted by the others, and they had all come together as a community.

Murphy had been unlucky to be party of the initial turbulence and uncertainty without then getting to experience the settling that had followed. He had been back with them now for over a week, maybe nearer to two and he had barely interacted with anyone, at least not by choice. He was still an ass and he still made it known when he wasn't happy with someone. But neither was he actively causing friction or instigating violence amongst the 100 as he might have before back when there had still been turmoil. Although he was working with them now, Murphy was noticeably staying separate from the group of boys he had been a part of before, who made up most of the 100s hunters and perimeter patrollers, but was that through choice or not? The person he had interacted most with, in the last week or so was her, she realised with a start, and she was pretty sure they were almost…friends? Were they? Maybe? Or was that just how she had interpreted things because she wanted to be his friend? And she did want to be his friend, she realised. Would he want that too? She hoped so.

From across the camp a pair of steely grey eyes connected with hers and held. Clarke gasped. She had fallen into her thoughts again, not realising that she was still watching him, still staring, until his gaze had found hers and reached across the camp to shock her back into awareness. Time slowed and stretched as their connection held. Clarke felt a rush of embarrassment at being caught watching him but now that he held her gaze she fought the impulse to quickly look away. His eyes were penetrating as they regarded her and Clarke realised that in this situation someone might offer an embarrassed smile or a nod of acknowledgment but Murphy was watching her for something else. His look was one of confusion and distrust, doubt and wariness. His expression was guarded and he was unsure of her attention. Clarke looked away and ducked her head feeling shame and embarrassment.

His expression softened from his instinctive cagey demeanour to a look of bewilderment. But Clarke missed this. She also didn't see how he glanced back over at her once or twice before giving up and getting back to work. Once she was sure Murphy would be busy working again she chanced a look back. She realised then that this was the same group the two young girls had been watching earlier because the person working alongside Murphy now was _'yummy-enough-to-eat'_ Marc from the love triangle.

'Of course they were watching _this_ group', thought Clarke as she watched them sharpen large spears, 'it's got most of the camps prim males in one place. Not to mention working hard and-'. Appalled with herself Clarke once again tore her gaze away, this time moving so her back was towards them, lessening the temptation to sit and gape at them while her thoughts ran away with her. This was all Octavia's fault. Octavia and the after effects of a day of listening into teenage drama. That was all. This is what she got for indulging in a day of distractions from the grounders, she thought wryly. The softest titter of muffled laughter floated towards her, coming from straight ahead in her new position facing a cluster of tents. Clarke spotted the two young girls from earlier, now sitting under the cover of one of the tents, it's side tied open to give them a full view of the camp as they sorted through large containers of berries and nuts, organising them into ration packets. They were both blushing furiously and staring off behind Clarke at a point just over her shoulder. She clenched her jaw and scowled, fighting to resist the overwhelming urge to look round. Within minutes, movement at another tent drew her attention as Raven burst out of the ammunitions tent and stalked off with a beseeching Finn following close behind her. With that Clarke started to grab at her things, hastily gathering up what she needed and abandoning the rest for later she scampered off to the dropship to see if she could better distract herself from her distractions in there. This was why she had always preferred to avoid the teenage girliness she griped to herself as she hurried back into the solitude, craving it once again.

* * *

Thank you to all the readers and followers and favouriters and reviewers. One guest reviewer in particular has completely shaken me up with their suggestion - I'm going to have to reconsider where I was originally going to go with this story. Thank you. Suggestions are amazing for tickling plot ideas out of me.

 _All feedback is welcomed, so tell me what you think. Good or bad - I can take it!_

P.S. remember this one was Clarke P.O.V., so the next chapter is Murphy P.O.V. and it's almost done.


	7. Chapter 7

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Seven**

 **Murphy P.O.V.**

The atmosphere of the camp was tense as everyone worked, and prepared, and waited…

The grounders were coming.

Soon.

For days the air had been sparking with anticipation. Pressure was building; filing the camp and swelling against its boundaries as though it would soon burst. Anticipation hissed through the camp like air escaping a swollen balloon. Nerves and anxieties strained against the confines of the walls, generating a charge of energy which coursed through the occupants as they waited for the inevitable attack, under a tension that was so taut it would soon snap - violently. Murphy began to spot the tell-tale signs of stress and panic as they started leaking through the cracks of the confidence and egos of the people around him as they grew increasingly agitated. He knew from experience that for teenage boys – at least for those who were locked up in the skybox prison - fear presented itself in shows of frustration and outward displays of aggression. Therefore, he knew it was only a matter of time before someone rounded on _him_.

"This is all your fault!" The angry words were snarled in Murphy's face before hands struck against each of his shoulders with force, pushing him back a step and putting space between them again. They stood facing each other with defiant stares: weighing one another up, assessing the odds in a fight. Murphy tensed but didn't respond as he examined the young man in front of him closely. He didn't know his name but he knew who he was; he had worked beside him for days now and had spoken to him a handful of times in the early weeks on earth, after they first landed. He wasn't as tall as Murphy but he was broader and had a stockier build. He was one of the older members of the 100, Murphy was sure he had been only days away from turning 18 and being floated when they were all packed into the dropship and sent down here. He attacked again. This time his hands collided with Murphy's chest, striking hard and shoving him backwards again. Murphy braced himself against the impact; planting his feet and taking a breath as the force of the strike on top of his ribs pushed the air out of his lungs. The move had been obvious but Murphy didn't act to stop it or avoid it, just absorbed its force. His heart began to speed up, heating his blood with a surge of adrenaline and testosterone, but Murphy ignored it, only straightening up his posture: drawing back his shoulders and flexing, stretching out the muscles in an attempt to loosen and disperse the building tension. Around them others had stopped working and were watching on with excitement. Murphy's unwillingness to fight seemed to anger his attacker further. His eyes blazed black under the dark crease of his eyebrows and red blotches coloured his face as he growled out again, this time louder.

"This is All" he shoved at Murphy, "Your" shoved again, "Fault!" and again. Murphy steadied himself, his breathing coming more heavily now as he restrained himself. The impulse to lash out was pumping loudly through his veins. His face was grim: his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared down the angry youth facing him. He still wouldn't let himself be provoked. That was what he wanted, this angry young man with black hair and matching black eyes. Murphy was a bully, and he was mean, and he was always ready for a fight - and everyone knew that. This man was worse in Murphy's eyes, because he was a manipulator: he charmed people and played with them and used them – and everyone knew that too. So Murphy didn't fight back, he wouldn't give him the satisfaction until he knew _why_. If he hadn't been looking for it Murphy might not have seen the tiny flash that skirted through the black eyes as a voice rang out from the crowd.

"What the hell!? Hey stop that! What's going on here?" Her voice was sharp and high over the hum of the crowd. Wisps of emotion gathered and clouded around Murphy's thumping heart, turning solid in his chest at the sound of it. _She shouldn't be here_ , he thought angrily, _she shouldn't get involved in these things_. Murphy clenched his hands into fists and ground his teeth together as he fought to repress another rush of testosterone and adrenaline. Clarke elbowed her way through the gathered crowd of onlookers until she reached them. Murphy saw her eyes flicking from him to the other man and back again. He knew what she was seeing: the firm aggressive stances, the defiant glares, and the waves of tension rippling between them. She moved more cautiously now, approaching them like they were wild animals, as she edged forward with slow and steady movements to stand between them. With one last glance over her shoulder at him Clarke turned her back to Murphy and faced the other man.

"What the hell's going on here?" she demanded. He stared fixedly at Murphy over her head, not sparing her a glance when he spoke.

"We wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for _him_." He sneered. Aggression radiated from him as he pointed a finger towards Murphy with a sharp jab.

"Don't be stupid." Clarke snapped at him angrily, finally drawing his attention as he shot her a black glare. "The grounders were always going to attack us eventually. They've been trying to kill us since we got here." She didn't shout but her words were coated in contempt as she bit them out, making the black haired man stiffen with anger. Murphy's eyes were fixed on him, watching him carefully as he pulled back his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height, waiting and watching for his next move and ready to respond to it. "All Murphy did was give them information." Clarke's tone of disdain made her dislike towards the man obvious. Murphy saw something pass over his face as he fixed Clarke with a cold hard stare.

"He gave them information?" He said haughtily. His words were almost exactly the same as Clarkes except for his inflection. With the slightest adjustment to his tone and his expression he managed to belittle Clarke's defence of Murphy and demean Murphy's experience with the grounders. The statement was arrogantly drawled out and his expression was smug as he met Murphy's steely gaze with a challenge flashing in his black eyes. Murphy heard the murmurs rise up around them. He saw the way the tension clawed its way up Clarkes spine, tightening her muscles and straightening her back. So this was what he wanted: to make people see Murphy as a traitor? As though he willingly betrayed the 100 instead of having the details teased out of him with knifes and hot pokers. Unbidden, memories flashed rapidly behind his eyes: images of chains and knifes painted red by his blood; the sound of his screams and pleas for mercy, for _death_ ; a crying princess whispering apologies through her tears as he lay broken and abandoned in her care. There was a ringing in his ears over which he could just make out the sound of Clarke's voice.

"What?" she sounded small: confused and astounded at being manipulated in such a way, in some kind of power play.

"Is that 'all he did' _, princess_?" he taunted snidely and then Murphy lunged for him. The lingering ghosts of fear quickly vanishing to be replaced by a rage, swifter and more insistent than the anger any pushing or yelling could have riled out of him. But Clarke stopped him. If she hadn't already been standing between them Murphy doubted she would have been able to, but she had already been angled in front of him so when she grabbed a handful of his t-shirt he had to either stop or barrel into her. He froze, every muscle locked, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his own eyes fixed with a deadly intent on the black eyes still taunting him.

"Justin can I see your hand?" Clarke asked in her calm and detached healer tone of voice. Calculating black eyes flickered to her, caught off guard and unsure, but after a moment's hesitation his hand was extended out.

"Uh ok. Why?" he asked his gaze already drifting back to Murphy in quick repeated glances, more interested in the torment and fury on the man's face than the bland request of the woman between them.

Clarke reached out quickly and grasped his offered hand, her grip tightening into a vice like hold when in the next instance she withdrew the knife tucked into her belt.

"I'm going to start removing your fingernails to see what information you'll give me." She answered with a blank expression the second the blade was drawn. The sentence wasn't fully out of her mouth when Justin yelped and ripped his hand out of her grasp with such force that they both stumbled apart. Startled gasps echoed through the spectators. Murphy stared, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, too stunned to reach out and steady her as Clarke staggered back a step.

"Crazy bitch!" Justin yelled at her wide eyed and pale with his hand fisted protectively against his chest. Clarkes face was thunderous as she stalked towards him, blade still clutched in her fist.

"Stop looking for a fight and get back to work!" she hissed. She spun swiftly and barked out again: "Back to work!" Murphy still stood rooted to the spot as Clarke disappeared without a backwards glance and the gathered crowd quickly dispersed.

* * *

Murphy felt the tingle of watching eyes whisper down the nape of his neck and turned to find Justin glaring venomously at him. He turned away, ignoring him. But the sensation arose again, persisting repeatedly throughout the afternoon. Murphy continued to work until he couldn't ignore the needling feeling any longer. He spun around ready to yell at Justin, but it wasn't him, instead he spotted two kids watching him and giggling as they filled flasks by the water tank. He scowled at them and went back to work. When his senses started to itch for a third time Murphy's blood pressure spiked with irritation. He almost growled at the infuriating felling of eyes boring into the back of his head while he worked. He stubbornly resisted, ignoring the urge to turn round until the sensation became too much and the compulsion overwhelmed him. He spun, eyes frantically scanning for the eyes that were already fixed on him and finally locked gazes with the princess. Hot angry annoyance quickly cooled to confusion and suspicion. He frowned. He expected her to smile, or wave, or something, and then when she didn't he felt foolish for expecting it. So why was she watching him? Murphy started to suspect she was watching him to see if there were any more fights. But was she blaming him for them or trying to somehow protect him from them, he didn't know. Frustrated with Justin's dominance games, and with feeling like an outsider, and fed up with not understanding the princess or what she wanted from him Murphy decided he would have to confront her about it.

* * *

Murphy joined Clarke at a fire where she was sitting alone eating dinner.

"I don't need you fighting my fights for me Princess." His built up frustration and irritation from the day made him sound stern but he didn't think he was really angry with her.

"I know." She answered lightly, seemingly unaffected by his surliness. "That doesn't mean you have to fight every fight alone." Like when she had been treating him in the dropship everything about her seemed to soften as she said this. Her features opened up into a look of such honesty and earnestness that he could sense she was saying this to him from her own experience; as though she were giving him this advice because she knew something of what it was like, _she_ was tired of fighting _her_ fights alone. Just like before this unexpected glimpse of her vulnerability chipped away at his own harsh exterior, making him want to lower his defences too. He sighed tiredly and slid down off the log they were both sitting on until he was sat on the ground, legs stretching towards the fire, his back propped up against the log.

"I owe you enough already." He told her quietly. He shifted his shoulders lower, letting his head tilt back until it too rested against the log, his face angled up towards to stars. "I don't like owing you." He grumbled.

"You don't owe me anything." She disagreed softly. Murphy turned his head, regarded her with an incredulous look and scoffed.

"You cleaned me up when I came back from the grounders. You looked after me. You stuck up for me when Bellamy was ready to kick me out again. You jumped in front of a gun for me when Bellamy wanted to shoot me. You looked after me when I was sick-"

"Murphy," she quickly cut in before he could continue "I didn't do _any_ of those things thinking I would get something in return. In fact, most of those things I did out of guilt because I felt like I-I…" Clarke faltered. She swallowed against the lump of guilt in her throat and pressed on, needing him to understand, "I'm the one who got you hanged. I'm the one who got you banished. Anything I've done since you've come back has been to try and make up for that."

They sat in silence for a long time: Clarke stared into the fire and nibbled on tiny spoonfuls of stew, while Murphy peered up at the stars, his own dinner sitting on his lap uneaten and forgotten.

Murphy sounded awkward and confused when he ended the quiet. "That doesn't mean that I don't owe you my life now. Nothing changes the fact that I was a dick. I left, I gave the grounders information, then I came back and brought a sickness that could have killed us all."

Clarke opens her mouth to protest, the words already there, forming in her mind and ready to leap off of her tongue but then she paused. Thinking.

"Ok look this doesn't help anyone: this game of who owes who more. We've both done things we regret, that we feel guilty over." She glanced over at him to find him watching her. He nodded. "I don't hate you, you don't hate me." He nodded again and she nodded back.

"So let's just start a fresh. No one owes anyone. No one has an advantage. Clean slate." She unconsciously made a gesture with her arm, sweeping it away from her as though she could literally wipe away their messy and entangled history. But Murphy wasn't looking at her anymore he was gazing up at the stars again in thought. "Fresh start. We're both even and we want the same thing." She was pleading. Now that it had been put in to words she needed for things to change between them. He turned to her with a frown and asked.

"What do we both want?"

"To not be alone?" although it was her answer, it came out as a question of its own. The complexity of the dynamic between them and how much it had changed made her so unsure of herself and how to act towards him. "Everyone needs _somebody_." She added in a tiny voice.

"You're alone? You don't have anyone?" he asked disbelievingly. Clarke shrugged uncomfortably.

"I have…not friends, no. Just people. I thought I had Finn. I trusted him and I…cared about him. Then Raven arrived." She looked away.

"Why are you telling me all this? Is this you…trusting me?" Murphy sounded confused and frustrated again, and perhaps a little scared at the prospect of being trusted – trust was a responsibility he'd never had.

"I don't know. I think I'm maybe just not pretending with you…. Maybe…it could be a fresh start?" When he didn't say anything for several minutes Clarke summoned the courage to look over at him and found Murphy regarding her with the hint of a smile. It wasn't sly or malicious, just amused and it startled her with its charm. She'd never seen Murphy with an attractive smile before, she thought distractedly. "What?" she asked self-consciously.

"You said some stuff before…under the fever. Something about us both being _'better this time'_." She watched him uncertainly and waited, not remembering what she said and therefore not sure how it would impact now. She hoped it hadn't been anything bad. By the time she got the fever she had been looking after Murphy for about a week already, her mind had been made, she wouldn't have thought or said anything bad about him after that, would she? "Octavia heard parts of it." He continued and didn't notice the way this piece of information had caused her to jerk slightly, or the barely audible hitch in her breath. Now Clarke was worried for an entirely different reason, and at the same time was silently grateful to the darkness of the night and the glow of the fire as the worked well together to hide her blush. "You said some things about why people don't like me." Clarke winced at his words but there was still a smile on his face as he thought back to a conversation she couldn't remember having.

"I'm sorry." She said hesitantly.

"It's ok." He snorted a brief laugh "That's when you said we would be friends."

"I did?" she said surprised.

"And that you wouldn't let Bellamy banish me." His smile dropped away as he watched her carefully for a reaction.

"I didn't." His eyes narrowed. She rushed to assure him. "I mean we've already talked about it and he isn't going to banish you."

"All those reasons why people don't like me: they won't change. I'm a dick." It was Clarke's turn to smile. She shrugged and told him:

"I'm a pain in the ass uppity princess who bosses everyone around and thinks she knows everything." Clarke said. "So do you want to be my friend?" He laughed. The sound was all it took to chase away the doubts and uncertainties.

At that moment Octavia strolled past their small fire with her own dinner serving. She grinned broadly and winked at Clarke who in turn stiffened and narrowed her eyes at the brunette. Murphy grew uneasy. The amusement was extinguished from his eyes. He worried that the younger Blake would join them; there was clearly meaning in her exchange with Clarke that linked to some previous conversation between the two. The thought of Clarke leaving to talk to Octavia left him feeling surprisingly lonely. Murphy felt suddenly vulnerable after his conversation with Clarke: he had left himself too open and could already feel his defences and his hackles rising. This is why he didn't let people in, this risk of being let down. All of a sudden he was once again ready to lash out if necessary, in order to keep a wall up between himself and the rest of the world. But Octavia skipped away as quickly and quietly as she had appeared. Murphy watched the tension ease back out of Clarkes posture. They both relaxed. Neither could think of anything more to say, both a little scared of ruining this new and fragile thing – this truce – so they lapsed into silence as they finished their food, but it was a welcome and comforting kind of quiet: a _friendly silence._

* * *

Thanks for reading. Review and give me your feedback.


	8. Chapter 8

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Eight**

Stacking the final slab of wood (crafted by some of the younger 100 to function as plates and trays) onto the top of her pile of dishes, Clarke dried her hands and bid the others good night. She tried not to, but she was smiling as she made her way to her tent. She really shouldn't be smiling: the grounders were sure to attack any day now. But today had been a small personal victory for Clarke and she had learned not to ignore the joy of those small victories, because sometimes the small things (a thank you from a patient, a dry and sunny day, fresh meat for dinner) were her only source of happiness in a life full of dangers and problems. Today she and Murphy had agreed to a fresh start between them. They were friends. When she thought about her interactions with Murphy since his return, she never thought in terms of what he needed from her, or what he expected from her, or what he wanted from her. She didn't have to think about healing him, or giving him answers, or telling him what to do. This was what she had come to expect from every other person she encountered and every other interaction she had. Not since her friendship with Wells, before her dad was floated, had she felt able to just _be_ , and for that to be enough. Clarke had found a kindred spirit in Murphy, she realised, because he was just as alone as she was. Octavia was wrong: yes she had an interest in Murphy, but she wasn't _interested_ in him, not like that. She had felt a connection to him that had now resulted in the beginnings of a friendship. That was what she wanted. That was all.

With a lightness in her step Clarke crossed the camp to her tent and slipped inside. With the flap firmly secured shut, she let out a contented sigh and gave into the happiness, letting it pull her lips up into a bright smile as she flopped down onto her bed. The guilt and shame over all that had happened to Murphy had sat as a heavy burden on her shoulders for weeks, so now that they had agreed a truce, now that she had a second chance to treat him properly – fairly and with respect – Clarke felt as light as a feather. Regret and responsibility no longer weighed her down. The excitement of a second chance blossomed hope in her heart – they would be a good community, the 100. Better than the ark had ever been. She would make sure of it. She would be a better leader.

Clarke was drifting off into the foggy reaches of sleep when a noise startled her into alertness. Her eyes popped open and she sat up to listen. Low and urgent whispers were exchanged just outside her tent. Clarke held perfectly still. The fires were all out by now, there wasn't a hint of light, no shadowy outlines, just thick darkness and muffled sound. Footsteps. The rustling of a tent. More footsteps. Clarke's fingers inched their way under her pillow seeking her knife. "Nothing. Let's leave it tonight." A low and angry voice murmured, sending a chill up her spine. She recognised that voice, and that anger: it was Justin. _Murphy_.

* * *

Gingerly touching his fingers to his lip Murphy grimaced and spat the blood out of his mouth, cursing that it was already swollen. He sat down heavily onto a cot in the shadowy corner of the dark and silent dropship and reached for a box of medical supplies, ignoring the throbbing in his knuckles as he stretched out his hand. A low simmering anger still pulsed through his veins at the cowardly ambush he had walked into. Murphy hadn't expected any less. He had been waiting for it for days in fact, although he hadn't been sure what 'it' would be. But when Clarke had interfered that morning he knew he was living on borrowed time until someone tried something else, something less public.

A life lived in the skybox was all about dominance. There was a hierarchy. There were ring leaders and there were followers. Murphy learned from a young age that if he didn't want to be pushed around he had to become the one who pushed people around. People respected strength so you had to act tough to survive. Coming to earth had shaken up the dynamic most of them had lived by in the skybox. It had made the 100 volatile and unpredictable for the first several weeks before a hierarchy was established. It wasn't openly decided upon, just a natural process of social balancing. With a reputation from the skybox as a menace and a trouble maker, Murphy had substantial weight in the 100 camp. This reputation was solidified when he aligned himself with Bellamy and Miller and the others. But then the Princess had upset the balance by constantly challenging Bellamy. But it wasn't just that, Murphy was sure a lot of the skybox kids would have backed someone like Clarke with her ideas and her bossiness and her can-do attitude. She was an obvious leader. But it wasn't her ideas that were the problem it was where she came from: the daughter of a council member who had served her time in solitary was never going to be supported by a bunch of lower class delinquents from skybox. They had hated her in principal. Thankfully life on earth didn't have the same oppressive restrictions as the ark had. All of a sudden kids, who had lived their lives and made their decisions based on their place in the hierarchy of power, were realising that life wasn't so strict for them anymore. Resources were no longer limited in the same way as they had been on the ark, so they were no longer traded out or extorted. Food and water and the heat of the campfires were all plentiful. Clarke and Bellamy had everyone working hard, but unlike the ark it felt like a community working together and supporting each other. People pulled their weight, not because a guard made sure there was no slacking but because they wanted to: they wanted a bigger fire so they cut more wood, they wanted more tea so they collected more water, they wanted a dry bed so they patched up the tents.

Back with them again, the 100 seemed even more unified than ever to Murphy. But he no longer had a place. And it seemed that some of the males felt threatened by his return, no doubt worried that he would either: go back to his old ways of bullying and intimidating; or fall back in with Bellamy, and that thy would be pushed back down a place in the pecking order. But Murphy knew that wasn't the case: he was no longer in with Miller and the others. Actually it was more than obvious that Bellamy didn't like him, and didn't want him around. And people respected Bellamy Blake. So Murphy was an outsider; he would have to work to earn his way back into the 100, and he wasn't sure how to do that - how to gain respect, without intimidating it out of people. He might have made it back to their camp but he was no longer part of the 100; he was very much alone. But that was ok, he could handle assholes like Justin. He would take that over the cruelty of captivity with the grounders, or the fear and loneliness of banishment any day. And as he riffled through the box of medical supplies, looking for some of Clarke's seaweed water or Monty's moonshine - something to wash out his burst lip with - his thoughts turned to the 100s healer and her offer of friendship. Maybe now he wouldn't be just quite as alone as he had expected to be.

A sound startled him out of his brooding, making him instantly alert and tense. The sound was followed by a shimmer of movement: someone entered the dropship. Murphy stood and faced the entrance, angling his body towards where his pursuers would emerge from the darkness. He would be cornered and trapped he realised as he peered nervously through the black shadows, widening his stance and clenching his muscles, ready to move as soon as they struck. Footsteps padded softly closer and the white arcing sweep of a torch's beam cut across the room, making him cringe and recoil from its fiercely bright light until another sound reached him that was pure music.

"Murphy?" she called out in a whisper and hurried towards him. "Oh my God. What happened?" she asked, shutting off the torch once she was stood in front of him. Murphy exhaled and blinked away the spots in his vision, his tense posture instantly relaxing.

"It's like you said Princess: people don't like me very much. What are you doing here?" He kept his head dipped letting his hair flop forward, hoping it would help conceal his burst lip and not sure what other evidence of the ambush might show on his face. He fixed his gaze on the box of supplies at his feet so she couldn't see his fresh injuries or how happy he was to see her. But Clarke wasn't having it, she scrutinized him closely, dipping and bending and angling around in front of him while he stubbornly kept his head bent.

"People don't like _me_ very much either but no one _punches_ me." She said as she reached out, grasped him firmly by the shoulders and forcefully guided him back a step. The backs of his knees hit the edge of the cot, making him drop back down to sit on it again. Clarke crouched in front of him and grabbed him by the chin forcing him to face her. Murphy tensed and averted his gaze.

"I bet people have thought about it though." he said, "You're just too important for them to actually _do it_." He couldn't help but sound a little bit bitter about that – the Princess had probably never had to fight for her place. "Besides if you piss off the doctor who's going to heal you the next time you get injured." He joked, but there was a sharpness to his words from an undercurrent of anger. Murphy hated being injured, but even more than that he hated people seeing him injured, hated people seeing him weak.

"You've never let that stop you." She retorted. He looked at her for a moment: unsure how serious she was being. It was true: he had regularly pissed her off, often deliberately. But her features were relaxed, her expression open and her eyes had a teasing glint. He scoffed.

"I don't need a doctor Princess, I don't get hurt. I'm practically invincible." He replied.

"Your lip doesn't agree with you." She said.

"What _this_? This is nothing." She frowned at him then, her features hardening with disapproval but he was relieved when she didn't ask what he had done. Not that he had done anything, it was that jackass Justin, he had just defended himself. But that was the question he was waiting for her to ask, except she didn't ask anything, didn't reprimand him for fighting or ask who he had been fighting with or what for. _Was this a part of friendship,_ Murphy wondered _: a 'no questions asked' acceptance?_ Not acceptance, no, the concern in her eyes and the creases of her frown weren't accepting, but she was tolerating it. And he knew that wasn't who she was which meant she was making an exception and that had the ghost of a smile threatening to curve his lips for the third time that day. He struggled to supress it and failed so he moulded it into a smirk instead.

"Murphy I saw you barely an hour ago," Clarke said, her frown deepening slightly as she swept his hair back from his face searching for any marks other than the cut on his lip. He tried not to jump at the unexpected touch. He tried not to squirm at the intimacy of feeling her fingers run through his hair.

"Missing me already Princess?" his smirk grew wider as he teased her, because it was easier and safer to avoid and deflect than to tell her the truth, that he had been jumped by Justin and his pals.

"And you were fine," she continued, her eyes shifting back and forth from his eyes to his lip.

"I'm fine now." He countered.

"Murphy-" her tone was exasperated. But just under that there was the barest trace of fear shining in her eyes. Murphy's teasing smirk evaporated as the smile that had lingered beneath it fell away.

"Just leave it Clarke. Ok?" His tone was surprisingly soft as he urged her to let it go. Her deep blue eyes delved into his own steely grey eyes, questioning. He met her stare and held it. This wasn't about dishonesty, just importance. The petty challenges of the _'_ _Justin's'_ of the camp weren't important to him. Murphy wasn't interested in power, not anymore. She sighed and broke the stare with a resigned expression as she turned to the supplies.

"At least let me clean you up." She said.

* * *

"Now try to stay out of trouble long enough to get some sleep." She scolded, packing away the supplies again and heading towards the exit.

"Yes Princess." Murphy drawled from behind her. But she stopped and turned when he didn't follow her and was surprised to see him lying back on the cot and tugging up the blanket.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Going to sleep."

"Here?"

"Yeah. Uh…my tent arrangements didn't work out." He answered awkwardly. He watched her purse her lips in frustration, muffling the questions she was desperate to ask but knew he wouldn't answer.

"So you're sleeping here?" she asked incredulously. He shrugged. "You can't sleep here."

"Why not. I did it for a week when I first got back." He said.

"Yeah but you were injured. And then sick. Only sick or injured people sleep in the dropship. You can't sleep here." She said

"That's a bit discriminatory don't you think." He grouched at her, growing impatient with her relentless persistence.

"Come on you can share my tent." Clarke sighed exasperated.

"What?" Murphy squawked, "I'm not sharing your tent."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because…" he said indignantly.

"Because…?" she repeated.

"Because I'm not!" he said forcefully. Clarke's eyes narrowed to slits and she planted her hands on her hips.

"Are we friends Murphy?" she asked.

"Yes?" he answered a bit uncomfortably, still adjusting to their new status. Part of him was still expecting her to rescind her offer of friendship when she remembered who he was and why she didn't like him.

"Do friends share tents?" she asked.

"Yes but-" He ground out grumpily before Clarke cut him off.

"Then come on. Let's go. It's cold and I'm tired."

"Fine" he huffed and reluctantly climbed up off of the cot and followed her out into the cool night.

Clarke could feel his eyes on her, watching her as they swiftly and silently hurried through the camp to her tent. He walked a pace behind her, his hands jammed into his pockets. She couldn't decide if it was because of the cold sting in the night air or a sign of nervousness. A crunching sound drew her attention and she faltered, her steps coming to a halt as her eyes jumped nervously over their surroundings and her hand closed around the handle of her knife. Murphy stopped a step behind then stepped closer when he saw her grasp the knife.

"What is it?" he muttered close to her ear, freeing his hands from his pockets and eyeing their surroundings carefully.

"A noise… I heard them before, looking for you." His eyes snapped to hers and a hard edge of anger glinted in them "Do you think they're still there?". Clarke watched him, waiting for him to answer as he scanned the dark and quiet camp. Tension had stiffened his back and shoulders and a fierceness tightened his face, thinning his lips and darkening his eyes. But he didn't look scared Clarke noted. He looked like the Murphy from before: fierce, angry and vibrating with a dangerous energy, on the verge of lashing out.

"No." he told her. "I didn't hide where I was going when I headed to the dropship and I was in there long enough that if they had really been looking they would have found me by now. They're gone."

* * *

It was just before dawn the next morning, when they were both startled awake by a sudden commotion. Shouts went up followed by a rush of bodies, which caused them both to bolt upright almost simultaneously. They reacted on instinct, brains still lagging behind languishing in sleep. They could sense the buzz of anticipation in the air, which was enough to trigger some deep seated animal instinct and have them both springing up in a matter of seconds from the cosy nest of blankets and furs they were burrowed into, alert and yet unsure what had roused them. Then they registered the unmistakable sound of the camp gate opening, followed by more shouts and dozens of pairs of feet stomping and shuffling in. With a sudden spike of adrenaline Clarke and Murphy leapt to their feet and burst out of the tent; wide awake, breathing hard, and hearts pounding.

It was the hunting party – returning home with two large animal carcases, hoisted up on bearers, carried by a weary and filthy group of hunters. Clarke loosed a sigh of relief while Murphy groaned and cursed their timing.

Clarke watched the tired and bedraggled group as they carried their kills to the main camp fire. They were waved at and called out to by a few of the early risers. There were only a handful of people awake this early to greet them: those who were just finishing the night watch shift, and those up early to relieve them. Then there were a few people, like her and Murphy, who had been wakened by their arrival and were poking their heads out of their tents to see what was going on. Clarke smiled: it was a part of camp life she had always cherished, hunting for their own food. And it was a successful hunt – so another small victory to smile over. Lifting her arms over her head Clarke stretched the tiredness out of her muscles in a long and languid arch of her back. She looked over her shoulder at Murphy and almost laughed. He was sat on the ground in front of her tent, slumped forward and rubbing sleepily at his eyes with tightly clenched fists like a toddler, his knife still clutched in one hand. Lowering his hands, he saw her smiling at him and scowled sullenly up at her before turning his glare on the hunting party, clearly furious at being woken up.

"Not a morning person are you?" she grinned at him cheekily. As she watched him with amusement Clarke realised this was a perfect start to their day. While it might have made Murphy grumpy, they had both woken up and gone out so quickly that there was no time for any morning-after awkwardness. No uncomfortable exchange of 'good mornings', or sneaking out, or worrying who would see them and what rumours they might start. Like ripping off a band-aid – it was done. Reaching past him for her boots, which lay abandoned on the floor of her tent, Clarke plopped herself down on the ground side by side with Murphy, to tug them on and lace them up. He held an arm above his face to block out the sun, then seeming to give up entirely, he flopped down onto his back with a groan, so his head and shoulders fell back into the tent while his legs remained sprawled outside next to Clarke. She laughed at him merrily which seemed to only darken his mood. "I need to go help Bellamy deal with this." She told him, waving a hand towards the hunters. "You coming with or are you going to get breakfast? Or going back to sleep?" she asked brightly.

"Neither. Got guard duty." He groused.

"Ok well be careful." Clarke said. He looked up at her then startled, his bad tempered frown switching to one of confusion. He scrubbed a hand over his cheek self-consciously and looked away from her.

"Uh…yeah. I will be." He replied falteringly. Clarke's smile softened as she wondered when was the last time that someone had shown him that they cared about what happened to him? As she walked off towards the gathered crowd, her smile still in place, she vowed she would do it more often.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. I welcome any feedback..._


	9. Chapter 9

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Nine**

"I heard Murphy was seen leaving your tent this morning" Octavia said with a smirk, coming to stand next to Clarke as they joined the que for lunch at the cooking fire. Clarke groaned.

"Did you see his face?" Clarke asked, instantly aggravated. "He was attacked!" Then her indignant anger wavered as she added, "I wasn't going to just leave him on his own." In her head she silently added _'_ _again'_ as memories of doing just that taunted her. Guilt bubbled in her stomach as Clarke thought of how she had banished him, leaving him alone and vulnerable. She shoved passed the guilt and forced the memories away - that was all in the past. The brunette's smile had vanished.

"I didn't know." Octavia said softly. "Wait so it's _true_? You slept with Murphy?" she questioned abruptly.

"Jesus, Octavia keep your voice down!" Clarke hissed whipping her head around to see if anyone was listening to them. Despite her surprise Octavia noticed the blush on Clarke's cheeks with amusement. "I didn't _sleep with him_ , he slept in my tent. That's all." Clarke muttered, standing closer to Octavia and still glancing nervously at the others waiting in the que.

"Oh my God!" Octavia squealed, grabbing Clarke's arm and squeezing excitedly.

"What?" Clarke asked warily regarding the brunette whose eyes were gleaming with scandalised glee. "You knew that. _You_ brought it up." Clarke insisted.

"Eh no actually." Octavia said smugly "I heard people talking about seeing you and Murphy talking outside your tent before dawn, and that you were laughing and smiling." Octavia's smile grew as she pinned Clarke with a pointed look. How often was the Princess spotted laughing and smiling? " _They_ were guessing that it was something romantic. They were guessing that he must have been leaving your tent. But I assumed they were wrong, that it was just an early morning chat. I figured it was this weird friendship thing you're doing with him." Octavia's smile was slow and satisfied as she regarded Clarke. The blond could only gap at the younger girl, her mouth falling open. "Apparently _I_ was wrong and _they_ were right. Thanks for clearing that up." Octavia smirked at her arrogantly. "Tut-tut Clarke Griffin. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to invite bad-boys for sleepovers." She chastised in mock disapproval. Clarke's mouth snapped shut, her lips thinning as she glowered at Octavia.

"Stop looking at me like that. It's not like that." Clarke snapped at her. They had reached the front of the line. She quickly snatched up two small containers and turned towards the large pot, busying herself with scooping up spoonfuls of stew, as she tried to smother her embarrassment and irritation.

"Sure." Behind her Octavia snorted with amusement.

"It's not!" Clarke insisted, still keeping her back to the girl, not looking up from her tray.

"Ok." Octavia said breezily. "Hey Clarke?"

"What?" she huffed.

"Why are you taking two portions?" Octavia bit her lip to keep from crowing with laughter at the red blush that instantly bloomed on the blonde's cheeks.

"I- I was going to take Murphy some lunch." She quietly stuttered out. Octavia's laughter broke free in a loud and delighted burst. "Oh shut up!" Clarke snapped at her, spinning around and stomping away.

* * *

"Murphy!" Clarke called up to him where he stood on the lookout ledge, high up the wall. He was leaning casually up against the wood, one shoulder slumped against the tall wall holding his weight, one arm outstretched holding the gun in position. The slight slouch in his posture meant that his head wouldn't be seen over the wall but he could still see out through the slot where his gun was resting.

The wall they had built to surround the camp was over 12 feet tall and topped with sharp spikes, except for where the ledges were. The ledge was a small platform half way up the wall, just big enough for a guard or two to stand for a watch shift and see over the wall into the forest. At each ledge the top of the wall above it was cut flat creating a small shelf. When a guard stood on the ledge, the shelf was at about eye level, a space only as broad as a pair of shoulders, with enough space to rest their gun on the shelf and take aim into the woods. Bellamy called these ledges _'_ _the watch towers'_. There were half a dozen or so along the entire wall, enough that from their own tower each guard could see a tower to their right and a tower to their left, to allow them to signal any potential threats or sightings from their perch with a simple wave or gesture to the neighbouring guard.

Murphy turned to see her holding up a tray with two helpings of stew and two water canteens. His eyebrows shot up in surprise but he nodded down to her in acknowledgment, his expression otherwise closed off. From where his shoulder rested against the wall he felt the soft impact vibrate up through the wooden structure as Clarke planted a foot firmly on the foothold near the base of the wall and pushed herself up, reaching up to place the offered meal onto the ledge at his feet. Murphy watched her curiously, as she made a pathetic attempt to hoist herself up onto the ledge. She dangled pitiably from the edge, with her weight propped up on her forearms and one foot still levered against the foothold. She panted and jerked, ineffectively trying to muster up enough momentum to swing her leg up. Murphy rolled his eyes, more amused than annoyed, and without thinking he pushed himself away from the wall, grabbing the gun strap and swinging it over his shoulder he leaned down to help her. Squatting down he griped her arms firmly above each of her elbows and when she moved her hold from the ledge to wrap her hands around his forearms he pulled, heaving her up with a grunt, lifting her clean over the edge and setting her on her feet beside him.

"Thanks." She mumbled, startled and unexplainably breathless. Still he didn't speak just eyed her questioningly, his eyes briefly flitting to the food at their feet before he looked out over the wall, eyes carefully scanning the trees as he settled back against the wall, bringing the gun back up into position with the butt nestled into his shoulder, the grip resting against the shelf and the barrel pointing into the forest.

"Have you been up here all day?" she asked, bending down to pick up their lunch.

"No. I was on the gate this morning. Then I took another shift this afternoon. I'm on the watch tower until dinner." He said.

"Why?" she asked, holding out the water to him. He frowned at her question and raised a shoulder in an unsure shrug, eyes darting briefly over her shoulder to the lunch rush at the main campfire. "Well I guess it's a good thing I thought to bring you some lunch then." Clarke said brightly, but she could see that he was wary. No matter how cheerful she was he wasn't going to accept this without an explanation.

He was cautious, she knew from the day he arrived back in camp that it was never going to be as easy as just asking him to be her friend. He was still suspicious, and not just of her or Bellamy but of everyone, and Clarke knew she would have to work at it if she wanted to fix that. His uncertainty was like a chill, hardening his eyes and closing him off, pushing her away. So she offered her reasons straight away, jumping in before she had time to second guess if they would be acceptable to him, or if she should try a different approach with someone as closely guarded as Murphy.

"I just thought…we've both been up since dawn. You've been working for like 6 hours now. You were tired and you had no time for breakfast," she knew that she was rambling but Murphy was so still and silent that it made her want to rush to fill the quiet with her explanations before his cold exterior completely frosted over and shut her out. "Plus if I was on watch I'd want a friend to bring me food and drink, to keep me going." She said softly, dropping her gaze to the stew. Then a thought occurred to her, and she added wryly, "Although," she drawled the word out smoothly and arch an eyebrow "one benefit of being _'_ _the princess'_ is that I've never actually been on watch. I'm too important for stuff like that." She looked up at him tilting her chin up haughtily and smirking smugly at him. Murphy noticeably relaxed, something in his face and in the intensity of his eyes thawed and softened even as his eyes narrowed to an angry scowl and he muttered something about _'_ _special treatment'_. He scooped the water out of her hand and slouched back against the shelf to take a drink, eyes quickly scanning the trees before turning back to her.

"I saw you outside the wall earlier." He said, resting the water on the shelf next to the gun and reaching for the stew she was holding out to him.

"Yeah Bellamy was showing me what you guys did to reinforce the wall: it's looking good." She told him, pleased that he was talking to her and eating. "They've started laying a minefield – I guess you know that from being on watch duties." Murphy nodded while he chewed, still attentively watching the outside.

"I've seen them digging up holes and planting stuff. I knew it must have been some kind of trap. Didn't realise it was landmines though." He told her.

"Jasper's been making more gun powder and Raven's been using some to make landmines." She explained. Then she ducked her head and quietly admitted what she couldn't say in front of Bellamy earlier. "It's all a bit scary." The thought had danced in the back of her mind throughout her talk with Bellamy but she had ignored it, knowing he wouldn't want to hear it. But she felt like it was ok to voice it now, up here where no one else was listening but Murphy and no one was expecting her to put on the brave confident face of a leader. A leader who would have to lead her people into a battle. From the corner of her eye Clarke saw Murphy's head turn from the direction of the trees to her. She could feel his sharp grey eyes on her as he examined her closely, but she didn't meet his gaze knowing that those eyes could so easily penetrating the wall that contained her fears, doubts, regrets, and all the other meddlesome emotions that would otherwise prevent her from doing her job.

"We need all the help we can get." He told her solemnly, in a voice that was low and rough, the words raspy and catching in the back of his throat with the sudden onslaught of emotion. Clarke looked up at him then, into those pale eyes that were normally so cold and sharp, but now there was a haze that swam over them, loosening something that he normally held rigid as a spark of a memory flared and a flash of horror pulsed in the icy grey of his irises. Clarke shuddered as thoughts of his torture surfaced in her mind.

"I know." She whispered. Murphy seemed to look inside her, see all the tumultuous emotions, including the doubt and the fear and the guilt, and acknowledge it all with the easy understanding of someone holding tightly to all the same types of feelings deep beneath their own walls.

* * *

"So, can I have a turn?" Clarke asked.

"A turn of what?" Murphy questioned.

"Being a guard." She smiled brightly. "I told you I've never done it. I want to try." She pointed to the gun in his hands and wiggled her fingers. "Gimme." She grinned at him mischievously. He rolled his eyes at her but Clarke could see the beginnings of an amused smirk curling the corner of his mouth.

"You're the Princess." He shrugged, pulling back from the shelf and handing her the gun with flourish and a bow.

Murphy watched her clumsily pull the gun into position against her shoulder then nodded and steered her by her shoulders into his spot at the lookout point. Then she started with the questions: how many guards were there at a time?; how many shift rotations were there a day?; how many guns did they have? Clarke had a whole list of them, and she relentlessly peppered Murphy with them as he patiently gave her a lesson on watch shifts.

"Why don't you know this stuff Princess?" he whined irritably from behind her as he leaned in to her, both arms reaching around her as he adjusted her grip. "Some leader you are." He groused. But despite the grumpy pretences he answered all of her questions and helped her position the gun on the shelf (which was too high for her, her chin only just skimming the lip of it if she didn't push up onto her toes).

She started to think that perhaps the grumpiness was another one of his fronts, only this time his shifting gaze and subtle stiffening told her that it was his discomfort he was trying to hide. Clarke wasn't sure why he had become uncomfortable with her lesson but he had, she could see it in his clenched jaw and the repeated flexing of his fingers. Regardless of his reasons she tried to distract him. It was the first time since dawn that she hadn't had to think about how she was going to save her people from the grounders and she wasn't ready for the easy comfort of his company to end. So Clarke tried to ease his apparent discomfort by keeping him busy; first with her questions and then with anything she could think to tell him about.

Clarke told him about how she and Bellamy got the guns from the old bunker – to distract him from his discomfort – and how that just so happened to be the same day they accidently discovered hallucinogenic nuts, because their luck really was that bad. She told him about how she often thought about that bunker: did they search it properly, were there more like it just waiting to be discovered? She told him about how Bellamy had been planning to leave them that day and how she had only just managed to talk him out of it after they were both almost killed by one of their own. She told him about how it had been her that told Bellamy to bring the guns when she went to the supposed peace talks set up by Finn and Lincoln. She told him everything she could think of.

* * *

"Clarke?"

Clarke and Murphy both turned and looked down at the two figures approaching the watch tower. Miller and Stirling stood looking up at them with mildly puzzled expressions.

"Hey Miller." Clarke answered.

"Everything ok?" he asked, regarding her with confusion. Clarke frowned.

"Yeah." She answered. Beside her Murphy quietly snorted. She looked to him and saw him stepping away from the lookout point, lifting the gun from its perch on the shelf and slinging the strap over his shoulder.

"Time's up Princess." He told her as he stepped up to the edge of the ledge, crouching down he planted a hand firmly on the wood then swung himself over the edge with a jump. Murphy dangled there for a moment before releasing the hand hooked onto the rim of the platform and dropping down to the ground, all in one graceful fluid motion.

"Oh." She said, suddenly a little stunned. She stepped up to the edge of the wooden platform, the toes of her boots lined up with the edge of the ledge and copying what she had seen Murphy do she crouched down low on her haunches. Then she stopped. Clarke hesitated. Murphy was still standing on the spot where he had landed, looking up at her. His face was several feet below her own. The top of his head was below the height of the ledge. A jolt of panic punched her heart. She couldn't just _jump_ six or seven feet to the ground.

Clarke looked to Murphy and for just a second their eyes locked and the panic swelling in her chest shone in the blue of her eyes. But then in an instant the moment passed, she had blinked and the shutter was firmly back in place, shielding her emotions from everyone around her.

"Pass me down the tray." Murphy told her and she gratefully shuffled back a step, thankful for the delay, for a moment to steal herself before jumping. She grabbed it and bent low, leaning as far over the edge as she could to hand the try to Murphy. But even leaning like that, torso flush against the wooden ledge, with her weight all still firmly supported, the solid ground seemed too far down and the height of the platform she had been comfortable standing on for hours was suddenly precariously high up off the ground. Murphy took the tray from her then quickly tossed it down at his side, letting it land in the mud with a soft thump and a clink.

"Sit on the edge." He told her as he pulled the gun off his shoulder and tossed it to Miller. "Swing your legs down over the side." She obeyed instantly, shifting her weight nervously. Her hands clutched at the wooden rim apprehensively as soon as her legs were dangling over the side. "Push off."

"What?" she gaped at him.

"Just let yourself slide off. I'll catch you." He was smirking now, some part of him clearly amused by her struggle.

"You'll catch me?" her tone was sharp and shrill with a mixture of both disbelief and indignation.

"Well you didn't have enough muscle to pull yourself up without my help Princess. So if you try to swing yourself down you're just going to hurt yourself. Your arms aren't strong enough to hold up all of your weight. So slide off and I'll catch you."

Her hands clenched around the wood turning her knuckles white as she gripped the edge tightly. Her eyes flickered from the solid ground to Murphy's face, then to the two boys watching them with obvious interest. She swallowed. Then she took a deep breath and pushed. There was a rush of air. Her stomach leapt up to her throat. A bubble of panic inflated her lungs, readying a scream. And then there was relief and warmth and safety as she collided with Murphy and felt two arms reach around waist. For a few seconds time froze and all she was aware of was the length of her body pressed up against Murphy's. Warmth bled through the thin material of their shirts as their chests pressed together and Clarke's body was set on fire. Her breath hitched in her throat. But just as quickly as the arms and chest had appeared they then vanished. Murphy released her quickly, setting her on her feet and stepping back. Clarke was suddenly cold and breathless and a little dazed.

"Maybe this is why you're not allowed to do watch shifts Princess." Murphy laughed, not seeming to notice her inner turmoil. Clarke shook her head in an attempt to clear it.

"There should be ladders." She grumbled, ducking her head, not sure if she could look at him or their audience of two. Murphy might not have noticed anything but had they read anything in her reaction? "How is anyone shorter than 6ft meant to get up and down?"

"With some upper body strength." He teased, wrapping a hand around her upper arm and squeezed. The fingers of his large hand almost reaching right the way around her thin arm and touching together. Though his touch was light she felt his hold like a white hot brand and quickly shook him off, quickly turning away to hid her face as the warmth spread to her cheeks.

"Shut up Murphy." She snapped without any real bite and hurriedly stalked back into the camp. _'_ _Crap,'_ Clarke thought to herself _'_ _Octavia might be right'_.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Review with any feedback._

P.S. A note to all the lucky buggers who will be watching The 100 season 3 from the 21st of January: I am in the U.K. and as of yet the channel that shows The 100 over here hasn't announced the season 3 return date. We are usually only a few weeks behind you guys but please bear that in mind if you are writing me a review or a PM - no spoilers please. I'm so jealous of you guys. Let me know if it's good, just don't give me any details.


	10. Chapter 10

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Ten**

Heat burned red in her cheeks, embarrassment pulsing through her with every step as Clarke marched quickly towards the centre of camp, as though if she walked away from the wall fast enough it would be like the last few embarrassing minutes never even happened. She silently scolded herself: Murphy catches her and all of a sudden she's all _breath catching_ and _heart racing_ , like some damsel in distress. She was _not_ a damsel in distress. Ok, so she actually had been a bit of a damsel in distress: freaking out over jumping down from the platform; but that didn't mean she had to fulfil the cliché by getting all flustered over a warm chest and a strong pair of arms.

"Ugh." She groaned disgusted with herself. Clarke wasn't sure where she was headed until a shout off to her left drew her attention. She stopped in her tracks, listening as a handful of shouts echoed out sounding urgent and panicked.

"Is that smoke?" Murphy asked as he caught up to her. They shared a worried look before hurrying towards the noise. Spotting Bellamy in the crowd Clarke headed towards him.

"What the hell happened?" she called out to him as they approached.

"A fire in the smoking hut." He growled angrily, kicking at charred planks of wood. "Some asshole wouldn't listen to Octavia. Now the meat is burnt instead of smoked." Was all he said by way of explanation, then his eyes fixed on Murphy and some of his anger dropped to a simmer. "You just finished?" Bellamy asked him.

"Yeah. Miller is overseeing the shifts. Sterling just took over on tower four." Murphy told him.

"And?" Bellamy prompted.

"Quiet. Too quiet." Murphy said. Bellamy's lips thinned and he nodded his head once. Clarke didn't understand the grave look that passed between them then but before she could question it Monroe approached, black smudges of soot and smoke staining her face and her jacket.

"It's bad." She said, nodding to Clarke as she gave her report to Bellamy. "We managed to save some of the meat but not a lot. At least half of what we had is completely gone and some of what's left is probably too damaged to be edible." Bellamy cursed. Clarke sighed.

"Then we have to hunt." She said resignedly. "Anyone we can spare goes out."

"With a whole grounder army out there?" Bellamy questioned dubiously.

"We can't defend ourselves if we're starving." Clarke countered. Then she turned to Murphy. "What do you think?" He looked up at her sharply. Bellamy's eyes were wide as he glanced back and forth between Murphy and Clarke. Murphy cleared his throat.

"Well…" he began awkwardly, "what about your gun idea?" He reminded her hesitantly. "Now there might be two reasons to go out." Clarke straightened, her eyes growing wide as she turned the idea over in her head.

"What gun idea?" Bellamy asked, his interest piqued.

"I was thinking about the bunker." Clarke explained distractedly as she mulled over their options. "Between attempted murders and the hallucinogenic nuts we never did a thorough search to check for more guns and ammo. What if there's more?" Bellamy's eyes widened. "We could really use some more." She said wistfully.

"You want to do it _now_?" he asked "With a whole grounder army out there." He repeated exasperatedly.

"It could mean the difference between winning and losing." Clarke argued. Bellamy's gaze slipped from her to Murphy. Seeing Bellamy's attention on him he quickly spoke up.

"If we're going out for food anyway it might be worth checking." He offered hesitantly.

"Fine." Bellamy reluctantly agreed, "But one of us should go." He told Clarke "We already know the way and we already know where to look. Hopefully that will save time."

"You're right." She nodded. "I'll go. You're needed here more than I am right now." There was a moments pause where Murphy thought Bellamy might argue but he didn't.

"Fine." He conceded. "But you're not going alone. And you're taking a gun."

"Fine." Clarke agreed. "So if you stay here with a shift of guards, and we send a group out hunting, who can you spare to come with me to the bunker?"

As soon as Clarke asked Bellamy the question an ominous feeling twisted in Murphy's gut. He imagined Clarke alone in the forest miles from camp with some jerk she didn't know who was twice her size and carrying a gun, and suddenly the whole thing didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. It seemed dangerous. The faces of some of the camp trouble makers flashed through his head until his thoughts rested on Justin and hot panic burned through him.

"I'll go with her." Murphy blurted out. "If you want." He hastily added, looking at Clarke doubtfully., only then realising that she might feel just as unsafe alone in the woods with _him_. Clarke's eyes snapped quickly to his and held. She searched his face for what felt like hours before answering.

"Ok." She agreed with a smile. An unexpected wave of relief washed over him. "Thanks Murphy." She said softly. He saw the warm glow of gratitude in her eyes for just a moment before she tore her gaze away from him, dropping her eyes to the ground. The hard edge of Bellamy's assessing gaze seemed to relax once Clarke agreed, his stare no longer piercing hard through Murphy's skin. The last several days Murphy had noticed that while Bellamy was gruff and short with him, he was far less hostile now compared to when Murphy had first returned to camp. Murphy knew that was only because he had Clarke's approval. But now Bellamy seemed to be considering him thoughtfully.

"Fine." Bellamy said once Clarke lapsed into silence. "Let's organise some hunting pairs too. You'll all leave at first light and be back before dark."

* * *

Clarke ate a quick dinner and headed straight to her tent, wanting an early night and a good sleep. Today had been an early start and tomorrow they would be up even earlier for a full day of trekking. Shedding her jacket, she thought back over her busy day, the busy last four days since she contracted the grounder sickness, and all the preparations they had been making for the attack that she was sure would have happened by now. Just one more day could make all the difference, she thought. If her and Murphy actually found more guns and ammunition it could mean everything in this war. They just needed _one more day_.

Laying back on her meagre collection of bedding – some small animal skins, a few mangy furs and an ark issue blanket – Clarke's tired body melted into the warmth and softness, savouring the rare moment of quiet solitude. Clarke heard the approaching steps and the rustle of the tent flap - which she hadn't yet secured shut because she was waiting for Murphy to return - and she assumed it was him there now. She heard the footsteps stop and sensed his presence beside her. But when her eyes slid lazily from where they had been resting on the canvas above her head, a punch of cold fear jarred through her body when she found the wrong _him_ standing in her tent. Instead of the sharp angled, pale face and silvery-grey eyes she had been expecting, there was a shroud of long black hair casting dark shadows over a pair of black eyes. Finn's face loomed over her, peering down at her as she lay on her bed. The sight had her breath stuttering and her heart hammering in fright. Every muscle pulled taut as Clarke jumped up, feeling suddenly prone and exposed.

"Finn." She gasped. The jolt of shock sent adrenaline coursing through her blood. Her hand had automatically reached for the knife that was buried in the blankets by her side. Breathing hard and eyes wide, she stared up at him like a startled animal.

Yes, she had been avoiding him and perhaps that wasn't fair, but this felt like an ambush. That thought had her mind jumping to Murphy being ambushed the night before and her heart couldn't help but pick up its pace to a frightened gallop. Her adrenaline surged as fractured memories of angry whispers and bleeding lips flashed through her head, encouraging her heart to keep its rapid pace.

There was a determined gleam in Finn's eyes, he looked impatient as his fists clenched and unclenched in his aggravation. The sight he made - standing over her, between her and the exit - did nothing to slow her breathing or settle her panic.

"Clarke-" he spoke sharply, with pent up frustration. But Finn didn't get more than her name out before the _him_ she had been expecting burst through the flap behind him and into the tent.

"Hey Princ-" Murphy started then came to an abrupt halt. He froze in place, eyes widening as he took in the scene and in an instant his shoulders tensed and a dark veil fell over his face, cloaking it in a cold mask as his features twisted into an angry sneer. "I'll just leave you lovebirds alone."

"No! Please don't." Clarke blurted out before he could retreat. Murphy halted again and regarded her carefully: her muscles, he realised, were all clenched up and the hand planted at her side was holding tightly onto her knife. Murphy grew confused, the look on her face he could see now, was desperate and it bothered him to think what else it was he could read on her face; not fear surely? He didn't leave. Didn't move other than to turn his gaze from Clarke to Finn and glare menacingly at the tracker, in the cold and arrogant way he was best known for. Realising that Murphy wasn't leaving, Finn turned to him with an exasperated sigh.

"Just give us a minute Murphy." He said his black eyes scanning over him with a glower of contempt. "Clarke will come out and talk to you when we're done." Behind him Clarke had straightening up onto her knees, her back ram rod straight, shoulders squared and knife clutched in her lap. She stared at Murphy over Finns shoulder all wide-eyed and expressive. Murphy met her gaze for a brief second, silently telling her that he understood and that he wouldn't leave. Then he fixed the tracker with a fierce and defiant stare. With a frustrated growl Finn spun away from him, dragging a hand angrily through his hair.

"You can't keep avoiding me Clarke." He accused as he whirled back to face her.

"I'm not avoiding you." she said.

"Then why won't you talk to me." His question prickled with anger.

"We're talking now." Clarke said calmly. "Talk."

"In front of him?" Finn seethed "But it's private."

"We don't have anything to discuss in private."

"What's he doing in your tent?" Finn asked her suddenly.

"What are _you_ doing in my tent?" Clarke countered.

"Damn it Clarke!" he yelled. Clarke saw Murphy's hands curl into fists.

"It's late Finn. You should leave." she told him coldly. Murphy moved then, stepping away from the entrance and moving further into the small overcrowded tent to allow Finn to pass him and leave. With a final fierce look at Clarke the tracker stormed out of the tent, ramming Murphy with his shoulder as he passed.

Silence followed Finn's departure. Murphy watched Clarke out of the corner of his eye as he took his time with removing his jacket and slowly unlacing his boots. He saw her fall boneless onto the furs and lie there with her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling a little too quickly for her to be calm. Eventually, still watching her carefully, Murphy cautiously moved towards the pile of blankets. Clarke's tent was small, most of the floor space was occupied by a makeshift mattress which Clarke had cleverly assembled out of moss and dried grass and fathers all wrapped up un scraps of cloth and animal skins. This spongey matt was topped with a small nest of furs and blankets that made up Clarke's bedding. It was a skimpy supply compared to what some of the others had scavenged for their own tents. But it was comfortable and there was more than enough space for them both to sleep on it without even touching. As he lay down, moving slowly so as not to startle her, Clarke rolled onto her side to face him and opened her eyes. They lay like that, side by side, watching each other. Murphy wanted to ask her what had happened, ask her if she was ok, but still the silence stretched between them. The coolness of her expression steadily thawed and the rise and fall of her chest became more rhythmic and less pronounced, but he couldn't read her face. Murphy wondered if she was scared of Collins, or was she upset because she was in love with Collins? She had mentioned him before but nothing specific and he didn't want to cross any boundaries by bringing it up and saying the wrong thing. She had wanted him to stay and Collins to go and that meant a lot to him, that level of trust. He wanted to let her know that. He wanted to offer her some kind of comfort. He didn't know where to start for either. It suddenly felt very intimate, to be laying there next to each other, staring at each other, even when there was a space as big as a person between them. But then she loosed a breath in a long and heavy sighing exhale, a gust of air that reached across and tickled at his face. Her shoulders slumped, curving in on herself and her eyes drooped.

"Goodnight Murphy" she said.

"Night." Her eyes were already closed.

* * *

For a second day in a row Clarke and Murphy were both up before dawn. Clarke blearily headed towards a campfire in search of something warm for breakfast. She moved on autopilot, pouring herself tea, picking up some food, only when she turned to find a seat did she realise that Raven and Octavia were both already sitting there, watching her approach with matching grins on their faces, looking far too cheery for so early in the morning.

"We heard you're going on a trip today." Said Raven as Clarke sat next to them.

"With Murphy." Said Octavia. Clarke's eyes narrowed.

"We're going to the bunker to check it for more guns and ammo." Clarke told them warily.

"Sounds romantic." Raven teased with a grin.

"Octavia!" Groaned Clarke.

"What?" Octavia stared up at her with what Clarke knew to be a carefully crafted look of wide-eyed innocence "I never said anything." She denied.

"Octavia didn't say _anything_." Raven tried to reassure her rather unconvincingly,

"There isn't anything to say!" Clarke exclaimed angrily. Octavia and Raven grinned back at her.

"Octavia _did_ tell me you were spreading some camp gossip the other day." Raven said, seemingly changing the subject.

"What?" Clarke asked, suddenly confused.

"You were spying on a threesome or something like that." Raven prompted her.

"What?" Clarke squawked.

"The love triangle you told me about. Remember?" Explained Octavia.

"Yeah. So who were the girls, and who is the guy their both swooning for?" Raven questioned "Will there be a cat fight?" she asked eagerly.

"Oh that. It was nothing. Just a couple of silly girls I overheard talking."

"About?" Raven prompted.

"About a crush." Clarke shrugged. Raven rolled her eyes at the blonde.

"A crush on _who_?" she asked.

"Oh, uh Marc someone. I'm not sure who he is." Clark's sentence tapered off distractedly, her attention caught by something behind the girls.

A sudden dread crawled through her veins when Clarke saw Murphy standing nose to nose with Justin. Barely breathing, she watched the scene intently, completely missing the grin Raven and Octavia shared when they turned to see what had caught Clarke's attention and spotted Murphy in her line of sight.

* * *

Murphy was still partially asleep as he trudged away from the tents, until something hard collided forcefully with his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"I hear you're going back out beyond the wall today Murphy." Justin jeered at him. "Scared?"

"Scared I might miss breakfast." Murphy grumbled, far too tired for any taunting to be affective. But as he tried to step around Justin the youth blocked his path. Murphy sighed; it was far too early in the morning for a fight.

"Scared of meeting your grounder buddies again out there in the forest?" Justin mocked in a low and aggressive growl.

"Get out of my way." Murphy said irritably.

"I also heard that your little blonde girlfriend is going with you." Murphy's eyes narrowed as an ember of anger flamed to life in his stomach. "How did you manage that Murphy, huh? You were _banished_. Everyone _hated_ you." Spat Justin "But now, Bellamy just welcomes you back to his side. He gives you important jobs, lets you have a gun, includes you in conversations with Miller and the other. And you're getting all cosy with the Princess." Justin sneered.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Way." Murphy snarled, taking a menacing step forward. Justin smirked darkly before slowly backing away.

"I'll see you in the woods Murphy. You better watch your back out there." He hissed.

* * *

"What was that about?" Clarke asked Murphy the second he sat down next to her with his own tea and breakfast. Murphy hoped that she wouldn't pry, trusting that his usual early morning sullen mood was enough to avoid conversation and mask the dark anger that was now eating at his insides.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it." He said dismissively around a mouthful of food.

"You know I could-" but her suggestion died on her lips as Murphy looked up from his food, his sleepy eyes suddenly sharp as he regarded her with a raised eyebrow and a warning look. He didn't want her getting involved. "But-" she started to protest before he cut her off. If she got involved she would become a target and that was the last thing Murphy wanted.

"Haven't we talked about this already?" he cautioned her sharply. Murphy appreciated her concern and her offers of help. But the fact that she felt that way at all was all he needed from her.

"Fine." Clarke conceded, although her tone was snappy with irritation. "I'm Leaving it alone." It went against her nature but she would do it because he asked her to. Murphy nodded.

"Good." He said, turning back to his food before self-consciously adding, "Thank you" which earned him a soft smile of understanding from Clarke. They both missed Octavia's wide grin and Raven's open mouthed expression of shock.

"So Clarke do you think he's hot?" Clarke tensed at Raven's abrupt question. Her head shot up and her heart began to race. She felt suddenly very aware of the boy beside her, how close his body was to hers. "This guy the girls were talking about?" Raven clarified with a knowing smile.

"Oh him. I told you I don't know who he is, I just heard them saying his name." Clarke mumbled uncomfortably.

"I think it's the guy with the long hair, dirty blonde, always wears it tied back." Said Octavia.

"Oh I think I know who you mean." Raven said. "Hey Murphy, do you know who Marc is?"

"He worked with the group reinforcing the wall a couple of days ago." Added Octavia.

"Marc Waters?" he asked looking up from his steaming tea. He managed to look both sleepy, bored and irritated all at the same time.

"Who's that? Show us." Raven prompted. Murphy scowled at her, sighing dramatically before looking around the camp, his eyes scanning over each face. There was a look of recognition then he yelled out across the camp making all three girls jump with surprise.

"Hey Waters!" Murphy shouted over to a group on the far side of the camp fire. "Get over here." He yelled. The girls turned to watch as a blonde haired boy detached from the group and moved towards them. He was one of the older 100, almost eighteen if not already, a couple of inches shorter than Murphy, but broader across the chest and shoulders.

"What's up?" he asked awkwardly, his hands stuffed into his pockets and a shy smile on his face.

"Nothing." Murphy had already turned back to his breakfast. "Blake and Reyes wanted to know who you were." A chorus of gasps followed Murphy's tactless announcement. Raven and Octavia looked horrified. Marc looked surprised. Murphy looked bored. Octavia's eyes were wide and Raven's mouth gaped open.

"Oh…uh…hey." Marc nodded towards them, grinning as he rubbed a hand nervously over the back of his neck. The girls could only stare and nod mutely, mortified. Their obvious embarrassment only served to make Marc embarrassed although he was also obviously quite pleased. With a nod and a smile he excused himself, bobbing his head to Murphy before throwing a quick smirk towards Raven and Octavia and sauntering off with a swagger to his step. As soon as he was out of ear shot the girls turned on Murphy.

"What the hell Murphy!" Raven hissed at him.

"What?" he asked innocently, while dodging the cup that Octavia threw at him. "You asked." The girls continued to glare at him and Clarke had to smother a laugh into her tea when Murphy looked at her and she saw the glint of amusement flashing in his eyes.

* * *

The sun was almost fully risen by the time Clarke had packed some rations and water flasks into a backpack. Murphy was collecting a gun from Bellamy and Miller and she was on her way to meet him there when she heard Finn call out behind her.

"Clarke. Wait up." Clarke groaned but slowed her pace, allowing him to catch up to her.

"Hey. I heard you're going out with the hunting group today." Finn sounded eager and hopeful.

Bellamy and Clarke decided that they shouldn't tell everyone about searching the bunker for guns, not wanting to give people false hope when they might return empty handed.

"Yeah." She told him.

"Don't worry you can partner up with me." He grinned at her.

"Oh…uh…actually Finn, I'm going with Murphy."

"Murphy? Why?"

"Because…" but she was saved from having to come up with an answer.

"Because Bellamy's giving us guns." Murphy said, coming up behind her with a gun in hand. "And if I go with anyone else there is a good chance they'll piss me off and I'll kill them."

"Kill them?!" Finn whirled on him, "And Clarke should go with you because…?"

"Because she's the only one in camp that I _probably_ won't kill."

"Probably? Why are you even being allowed to go?"

"It's a hunt isn't it?" Murphy was smirking now. A dark and antagonistic smirk meant to provoke. "I'm good at killing things."

Finn's eyes narrowed and his face reddened as he puffed out his chest. Clarke cut in before Finn could speak.

"Ok let's go." She said, grabbing Murphy's arm and walking them briskly away.

"What an idiot." Murphy muttered as they left. "You know if he's bothering you I could…" but he trailed off seeing her watching him with an eyebrow arched questioningly and her lips curling at the corner with a smirk. He barked out a laugh. "I won't let you help me so you won't let me help you, is that it?" he questioned. Clarkes only answer was a bright smile that lit up her entire face and made her eyes dance. "Come on then, let's go get the Princess her guns. I want to be back in time for dinner."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading._

 _Feedback makes me better, please review..._


	11. Chapter 11

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Eleven**

Despite their good moods when they left camp just after sunrise, the day's trek was silent and serious. The bunker was a good distance away and Clarke and Murphy both wanted to be back at camp by nightfall, neither of them wanting to spend a night in the forest, which kept their pace quick. But, while she had expected a hard day's trek, Clarke hadn't anticipated Murphy's solemnness. The John Murphy she knew was cocky, carefree and self-assured. That didn't mean she had expected him to go arrogantly strutting through the woods, he had noticeably become quieter and more mature since his return. But he still had a sharp wit and a teasing sense of humour, still had that hard edge that projected confidence and danger, from years of incarceration as a juvenile. Clarke had been looking forward to spending the day with him, she realised now with a flush of embarrassment. She inwardly scolded herself as she thought about how she had imagined this day might go: naively, she had thought it would be a perfect opportunity for them to talk and spend some time together away from prying eyes, for them to be themselves and get to know each other. It was a serious mission and she had gone and romanticised the whole thing in her head. She cringed with embarrassment. Then she frowned and watched Murphy with concern. He was keenly alert, continually searching for any sign that they weren't alone. With a ready grip on his gun, he was constantly on his guard as his eyes meticulously surveyed their surroundings.

It was almost midday and they had been silently trekking for hours when they stopped at a narrow stream to fill their water canteens. Clarke's nerves were frayed. Murphy's hypervigilance was making her paranoid about their safety. His silence left her feeling isolated, and apprehensive that she had done something or said something. And all the while a thought niggled at the back of her mind that this had been a bad idea. She sat on a rock beside the water and fidgeted around nervously in their pack for ration packets. "You think coming out here was a bad idea?" she questioned Murphy hesitantly. He looked at her, his forehead creased with confusion.

"I think we need food and guns if we hope to stand a chance against the grounders." Clarke shook her head dejectedly, the niggling feeling nudging at her again. She knew Murphy well enough by now to know that something was off. _He didn't want to be here?_ She wondered confused. Then the niggle returned, wriggling insistently until it reached the centre of her thoughts and her stomach dropped with the realisation: he was _scared_. A burning feeling of guilt began to rise from her stomach.

"But you don't want to be here, out in the woods." She pressed him, her fingers curling around the bundles of nuts and squeezing nervously. Murphy sighed.

"I don't want to bump into any grounders." He admitted, lowering his eyes. He paused for a moment before turning back to her and adding, "But we couldn't have the Princess traipsing through the woods on her own could we?" he was trying to joke, to make light of the situation but he saw the shimmer of hurt in her eyes and could almost see the weight of guilt press down heavier on her shoulders. She had gone pale.

"Clarke." He started to reassure her but paused again, unsure how to explain. "I'm worried about the grounders. It's been _days_ since they let me go, to come running back to camp with a deadly virus. They had a _plan_ , they were going to _attack_. One bomb on a bridge and now _nothing_?" Murphy ranted, running his fingers through his hair with a nervous swipe. Clarke was shocked by his sudden agitation, amazed that he had been worried all along and yet kept it hidden.

"We slowed them down." Clarke offered feebly.

"It's been _days_!" he stressed, his anxiety tightening the lines of his face. "Every day that I wake up and they still aren't attacking us I feel like I'm in an airlock chamber on the ark, just waiting for them to push the button that will suck me out to space and float me. These last few days have been like living in an airlock. I'm just waiting. Waiting for them to push the button. To be floated." Murphy sighed wearily, some of the tension leaving him as he gathered himself and continued. "I don't think it's a bad idea." The genuine look of reassurance in his eyes was like a calming breath to Clarke. Her guilt slowly started to drain away as he continued. "I would rather that you and me were doing this together than you going alone, or worse with someone like Collins." He had changed so much from the tormenting teenage delinquent he had been when the 100 first landed. Clarke had to duck her head to hid a small smile. "But I'm still just waiting for a grounder attack." He finished tightly. Clarke nodded with understanding and a new found sense of determination.

"Then let's get going." She said as she stuffed their supplies back into the pack and stood. "We'll get this done and get back as quick as possible." Murphy gave her a tight smile. It wasn't his usual confident smirk, but he was trying, she realised.

"Lead the way Princess." He ushered Clarke back onto the path ahead of him with a bow and a wave of his arm.

* * *

They were almost at the bunker; Clarke was sure of it. For the last half hour she had been trying to get a good vantage point; climbing up onto boulders or walking to the top of the nearest hilly incline, hoping to catch a glimpse of the concrete structure. Their journey was still quiet and vigilant, but now they worked comfortably together as a team, taking turns to lead the way or to search their surroundings. They didn't talk but they still communicated with looks and nods and gestures, never letting the other out of their sight.

 _It's around here somewhere_ , Clarke thought distractedly as she turned in a slow circle, trying to decide if it would be best to start traversing to the west up the slop that was starting to rise in that direction. If she was right about their location then west was the wrong direction, but they were in the thick of the forest and the underbrush was too dense for her to properly see their surroundings. She needed an elevated view. So: climb to the top of a hill, in the wrong direction, to get a better view. Clarke groaned at the thought, she was exhausted, hungry and too hot. She glanced around, _maybe she could get Murphy to give her a boost up one of these trees._ That would surely be easier than more trekking. She stopped in the centre of a small clearing and looked up. _A view from one of those branches might be good enough,_ she mused. Clarke turned behind her to tell Murphy, and found herself alone in the clearing.

She froze. Her body went rigid as a spark of fear crackled up her spine. Clarke listened, her ears straining to pick up any sound over the soft hum of life in the woods. Something rustled to her left. Clarke turned slowly, opening her mouth to call out when a rush of movement behind her caught her off guard. A tiny yelp of fear escaped her lips before a hand was pressed over her mouth and an arm wound around her waist, swiftly pulling her backwards out of the clearing and into a thick blanket of foliage. Her heart thundered in her chest, blood rushing furiously through her veins spreading fear and adrenaline through her system in seconds. Clarke helplessly stumbled backwards, and immediately started to struggle, drawing in a gulp of air through her nose as she readied a scream. She felt lips at her ear, she heard them hushing her on the breath of a shaky exhale, and her panic suddenly stalled. The hot breath at her ear; the feel of the firm but gentle hand over her mouth; the grip that was as much supporting her as it was restraining her; the smell, so familiar and comforting. It was Murphy.

She stilled against him. Letting herself sink further into the heat of his hold as her muscles went limp with relief. He dropped his hand from her mouth and reached for the gun hanging at his side, but the arm around her waist didn't move. She turned her head, titling her neck back to look up at him. Murphy still didn't release her from his hold, his eyes were steely and dangerous when they met hers, demanding silence and compliance. Clarke nodded. She waited, now keenly studying their surroundings for what had spooked Murphy. Seconds ticked by, her breathing and heart rate gradually returned to normal after her initial fright, only to jump furiously again when a figure appeared in the clearing. It was a man, moving swiftly and silently with a gun raised, poised to shoot. He came to a stop barely a few meters away from their hiding spot with his back to them and bent down to examine the ground – her footprints, Clarke realised in horror as she watched, peering out through the thick canopy of leaves. He stood, raising his gun again and turned in a slow circle to survey the clearing. Clarke jumped and pressed back against Murphy when the figure turned to face them. It was Justin. He seemed to stare right at her as his black eyes scanned over the bushes that concealed them. Murphy's arm tightened around her. They waited, holding their breaths until eventually Justin seemed to pick a direction and stalked off, heading west with his gun aimed in front of him.

Neither of them had moved. They stood, hidden amongst the bushes, Clarkes back leaning against Murphy's chest as they stared at the spot where Justin had sunk back in amongst the trees. Clarke was the first to break the silence. She spoke tentatively, voicing her confusion.

"The guns aren't for hunting." She said. "They're for emergencies. For the grounders. The knifes and spears are for hunting." She turned to face Murphy and his arm fell away from her waist. "So why is Justin stalking through the forest with his gun raised and ready?"

"Because I don't think he's hunting dinner." Murphy answered. Clarke's eyebrows shot up and her eyes widened.

"When he spoke to you earlier…" she trailed off, not sure how to word the thoughts swirling through her head.

"He warned me to watch my back." Murphy scoffed darkly, his anger at Justin's threat apparent as he glared in the direction Justin headed.

"Oh my God." Breathed Clarke, alarmed. Murphy released his grip on the gun, allowing it to hang more casually at his side and pulled their pack from his shoulder to offer Clarke some water.

"Come on." Murphy coaxed her gently "I spotted the bunker."

"You did?" she asked surprised.

"Yeah. It's this way." He jerked his head east. Clarke steeled herself, then squared her shoulder and with a final glance to their right she headed left at a marching pace.

* * *

They found seven guns and several boxes of ammunition. It wasn't a lot but the loot was enough to make both Clarke and Murphy grin from ear to ear with delight. Murphy carefully examined the guns, test firing each one against the far wall and removing all the blank rounds. Clarke sat on the concrete floor with her legs folded under her, leaning back against the cold wall as she ate chunks of meat and watched Murphy work. She felt light and giddy at their success. The extra guns would help, but the real prize, Murphy told her, was the ammunition. They had walls, they had land mines, they had guns and they had bullets. The 100 might just be able to defend themselves well enough to fend off the grounders.

As quickly as possible they readied their haul, carefully wrapping everything up and dividing the load between two sacks – one for each of them to carry. A little over an hour after they arrived they were stepping back out of the dank air of bunker into the fresh cool breeze of the woods.

"Murphy, do you think Justin's still out there?" Clarke asked.

"Where we saw him was pretty far out for the hunting group. He probably can't risk coming any further east, he needs to stay within range of the rest of the group." Murphy turned around, considering their surroundings. "I think if we go a bit south from here," he pointed towards a shallow valley were the trees were less dense, it was the opposite direction from which they had arrived at the bunker. "If we go south for say a mile or so and then head back in the direction of the camp, there should be a big enough gap between us and the hunting group. We'll be too far out of their range for him to cross into our path again, even if he's looking for us."

"Ok good." Clarke said, obviously relieved. Murphy smirked at her.

"You're carrying a sack full of guns Princess, what are you worried about?" he teased her. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Come on, let's go home."

"Yes your majesty."

* * *

Their path through the valley was a much easier one than their route there had been, the trees were more spaced out and the shrubs and brush were nothing more than little clumps at the base of each tree. The made good time, marching at a quick pace until they had to alter their course back into the thick centre of the forest heading back towards camp.

The closer they got to camp the more excited and optimistic their mood became. The cation from the journey out had all but evaporated by the time they stopped for what they hoped to be their final water break. That was when it happened. They separated only for a minute, but it was enough, and for the second time in a matter of hours Clarke was grabbed from behind.

Her gasp was forcefully smothered mid-breath as a hand clamped down over her mouth. Her heart thundered in her chest. It wasn't Murphy. The hand was rough with callouses, the smell was sour, the grip was too rough. Fear prickled her skin. She was yanked to the side and around a wide tree, where she came face to face with Murphy. He stood there wide eyed, looking pale and shocked, and rooted to the spot. A wave of panic and dread engulfed Clarke. Blood roared in her ears as it raced from her heart. The world around her become muffled and sluggish, tinged by shock as her fear crippled her, tightening her chest and fogging her brain. There were shouts and commands - a blade was pressed against her throat, Murphy's gun was dropped to the ground. It all happened quicker than Clarke's panicked brain could process. The sight of two bear-like grounders forcing Murphy to his knees jolted Clarke out of her shock.

"No." she whispered, squirming against her captor. Murphy grunted in pain as his arms were pulled violently behind his back and bound. "No!" She said louder this time, twisting in the grip that held her. "Leave him alone." She yelled, tugging furiously, straining towards Murphy as one of the grounders raised his club to strike. Then everything went black.

* * *

 _Thanks to everyone who is reading._

 _Please review with any thoughts or comments or suggestions, I love hearing from you all._


	12. Chapter 12

AN: Sorry for the delay with this update. I got really busy, and then I got writers block. I really struggled with this one, so I hope it still flows ok. I have half a mind to rewrite it once I get the next chapter done, so please let me know what you guys think of it.

 **Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Twelve**

"Come on Princess you need to wake up."

Clarke heard a deep voice muttered somewhere to her right. She groaned as she settled back into consciousness and gradually became aware of the throbbing pain radiating from her temple. "Clarke?" The voice spoke again. She started to move, wincing at the ache along her spine, then frowning when she realised her hands were tightly bound together.

"Murphy?" she forced her eyes open, grimacing against the pain. "What happened?" she asked slowly, cumbersomely picking herself up from where she lay sprawled out on her side across a dusty floor.

"The grounders caught us. They knocked you out." She turned towards the sound of Murphy's voice and squinted through the darkness. He spoke quietly, his words softened by a note of concern. He sat on the floor a few feet away from her, his hands tied behind his back, and clearly getting in the way as he tried to lean against the wall, his head resting against the bare bricks. Through the dim light Clarke could see a nasty lump protruding from his temple which looked swollen and painful. At the sight of it a flood of images came rushing back to her along with the memory of her fear. She shuffled awkwardly towards him on her knees, her movements impeded by her bound hands, and the ache in her back, and the throbbing in her head.

"I remember…they were about to hit you…." She said as she settled herself against the wall, her shoulder brushing his.

"Yeah they did," he jerked his head, motioning to the angry lump on his temple then squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as the motion caused a flash of pain behind his eyes. "Just not hard enough to knock me out." He told her quietly, the strain of pain evident in his voice. "I guess they didn't want to have to drag me the whole way here. They hit me enough to daze me, they knocked you out, then we were tied up and blindfolded, and they brought us here." Clarke worriedly watched him, her eyes scanning his body for any sign of other injuries.

"How long was I out? And where's here?" Clarke asked.

"An hour maybe? It's all a bit hazy, they hit me pretty hard. I have no idea where we are, the blindfold made sure of that, but I don't think we walked very far."

"Well at least they took the blindfolds off." Clarke said as she turned her attention to their surroundings, her eyes beginning to search through the dim lighting as she scanned the room. They sat on a dusty floor in a small empty room – a cell – with rough brick walls and no windows. The door in the far corner was closed, it was made of wood and had a rectangular hole roughly cut out of it to make a window. Through the gap they could see the profile of the grounder guarding the door, silhouetted by the flickering light of a flaming torch and behind him nothing but the deep impenetrable darkness of the night.

"It's dark." Clarke realised. Murphy sighed and nodded. They were supposed to be back at camp before nightfall. There was no way of knowing how much time had passed.

"Looks like we won't be making it back for dinner." Murphy said. His tone was flippant, but she could see the fear that he was trying to hide swirling in the depths of his eyes like roiling storm clouds. He moved beside her, his leg brushing against hers and Clarke shifted closer, pressing her shoulder to his leaning into his side.

* * *

It wasn't long before their captors appeared. Three large figures came barging into the cell and advanced towards them like monsters looming out of the darkness. Their sudden arrival detonated a blast of terror through Murphy and Clarke, they both tensed and instinctively moved closer together as they each pressed back against the wall, recoiling from the threat prowling towards them shrouded by the shadows of the night. Within seconds the men were upon them, lunging towards them out of the shadows and pulling the pair apart. Clarke was wrenched to her feet and tugged forcefully across the room.

"Hey!" Murphy yelled in protest as he tried to follow her, but the other two grounders crowded menacingly in on him, cornering him and cutting off his attempt to reach her.

"No!" A sharp cry ripped from Clarke's throat as she began to struggle, panic engulfing her. The sound of it caused the fear inside Murphy to flare.

"Clarke listen to me." Murphy said desperately. He too was struggling as the two grounders unbound his hands from behind him only to stretch his arms above his head and retie them. There was a wild look in his eyes that made Clarkes stomach turn. "Do whatever they want, whatever they ask. Do you hear me?" His voice rasped with fear and pain. Clarke's chest tightened. "Don't give them an excuse to hurt you. Ok? Just do it, whatever it is."

They dragged Murphy towards the centre of the room and tied his hands above his head to a chain hanging down from the roof. The last glimpse Clarke got of Murphy before she was dragged from the room chilled her to the bone: his face was pale and tight with fear, his eyes shining with dread and ghosts of some unknown horror. Clarke remembered the tormented sheen in his eyes weeks ago, as he lay on a cot in the drop ship and told her: _'_ _They are vicious. Cruel.'_ Her blood ran cold. Fear and desperation twisted together in her stomach and turned to lead. The memories of that haunted look of naked terror slammed into her, wrenching an anguished sob out of her mouth.

With one final fierce shove Clarke fell through the doorway, stumbling under the momentum she tripped and crashed onto the ground with a bone jarring smack. Her bound hands prevented her from properly breaking her fall and her chin struck the ground with teeth clattering thud. She felt the stinging tear of flesh and the hot wetness of blood as the soft skin of her chin grated against the grit and dirt of the ground. The door slammed shut behind her.

Clarke breathed deeply and tried to focus as the grounder forcibly hauled her back up onto her feet. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut she banished that last image of Murphy from her thoughts and shoved determinedly against her panic, burying it under deep calming breaths. Clarke slid into leader mode: squaring her shoulders and locking all emotions down deep inside of her. As the grounder led her away she concentrated on soaking in every detail in the hope that she would learn something, _anything_ that could later help them escape.

The guard at the door to the cell was fiddling distractedly with some tools. He didn't look up as she was led passed. Lying abandoned at his side Clarke spotted their pack and the two sacks of guns and ammunition, seemingly discarded and untouched. She eyed them greedily as they passed but forced herself to keep walking. Clarke counted their numbers: one leading her away, and one stationed just outside the door, with two now inside with Murphy. _She took another measured breath._

She kept track of their route as they walked, and of how many people they passed – which was none. Her suspicions grew. Silence surrounded them and other than the small fire burning outside of the cell and the burning torch carried by her guard, the camp was shrouded in darkness. No cooking flames, no camp fires, nothing. Surprised, Clarke realised they were in a small village that appeared to have been abandoned, and recently. She had imagined they would be taken to a large camp, where the grounders would have gathered their warriors and be readying to attack. That's what the 100 had been fearing and anticipating for days, weeks even. So where was everyone? What was going on? _Another calming breath._

Clarke was led into a small crumbling brick building. The grounder came to a halt in a narrow hallway and shoved Clarke through a doorway, then took up a position to guard the door, his large frame blocking the exit entirely. At the centre of the room stood Anya. Her back was to Clarke as she stood, as rigid as a statue, staring down at the three beds in front of her, each holding a body. Although they looked more like tables than beds, Clarke realised. And they weren't bodies, but people - _patients_.

"All injured by your bomb on the bridge." Anya spoke in a whisper that burned with a quiet fury that had Clarke tensing.

"Patients. This is about…You want me to treat patients?" Clarke asked stunned. "I thought…" she started to say, but trailed off when surprise gave way to confusion and suspicion. "This village is empty. Are all your people," the words stuck in the back of her throat, "are they attacking my people?"

"You think we captured you and brought you here as part of an attack?" Anya sneered, still not turning to look at Clarke.

"Didn't you?"

"This," Anya pointed to the three prone bodies "is because of _your_ attack. As for the rest of the village, they have been summoned."

"Summoned? We've been expecting a war. We're waiting for you to attack." Clarkes words were sharp and heavy with accusation.

"The Commander will attack. Soon. But I've been…stalling." Anya finally turned away from the patients to look at Clarke for the first time. Her eyes were cold and her gaze was piercing. "This is my village. These are my people. I am responsible, you understand?" Her words were angry and biting as she spat them at Clarke. "I've been waiting for a chance ever since it happened, the bridge explosion, but you never left your camp, not until today."

"So you captured me, and are holding my friend hostage, so that I heal three of your people? Then what? You'll let us go home and then the commander will attack us?" Clarke questioned.

"Yes." Anya answered simply. The breath rushed out of Clarke in one sharp and painful exhale which left her chest empty except for the ache of fear and desperation pressing down on her heart.

"I'll do whatever I can to help them, if you let the man who was with me go. As a show of good faith." The words tumbled out of her in a rush, a hint of desperation bleeding into them. It was impulsive, but she could feel the panic rising as her control slipped. Anya's lips curved into a cold and menacing smile.

"Two of my people are keeping your friend company. And the Commander has summoned every clan for miles around. You will heal these three. And then tomorrow thousands of grounder warriors will go to battle, and your people will be destroyed." And with those words hanging heavy in the air, Anya left.

The seconds ticked by. And with every second Clarke's heart drummed hard and frantic in her chest. _Thump-thump, thump-thump…_

She could hear the roar of it in her ears. With every beat of her pulse, every second that ticked by, Clarke pictured Murphy; scared and alone and in pain. Because of her he was back with the tormentors that he feared, back with the monsters who had torn his flesh to ribbons that she had had to clean and stich-up and heal.

 _Thump-thump, thump-thump…_

She could feel the thud of it in her chest. She struggled to breath, gasping for air. With every passing moment an attack was drawing closer. The commander. Thousands of warriors. Destroyed.

She felt the tension building in her. As the time stretched on she was pulled tighter and tighter like a piece of elastic, until she was taught and rigid and ready to snap.

Clarke bolted for the door.

But the grounder was there before she made it, blocking her exit. He barred his teeth at her in a menacing snarl and shoved her back. Clarke's panic reached a crescendo.

"I can't-" her words cracked with desperation. Anxiety chocking off the rest of her words. "There's nothing-" she wailed the words like a plea as desperation and panic morphed into fear and helplessness. Emotions bombarded her. Overwhelmed her. "I don't-" She broke off, breathing heavily and closed her eyes.

 _Think._

The urgent chokehold of her desperation loosened slightly.

She pulled in a deep breath, filling her lungs.

 _Think_.

Clarke opened her eyes.

"I need instruments…tools, medicines?" She barked at the grounder.

"There." He growled, pointing at a small shelf in the far corner of the room. Clarke moved to the shelf quickly and inspected its contents. Then she got to work.

* * *

Minutes passed by as Clarke silently worked. She still felt the weight of each passing second like a painful squeeze to her heart, but she pressed down on her desperation suffocating it with a silent determination as she promised herself over and over again that she would get herself and Murphy out of this. The guard, she noticed from the corner of her eye, was gradually moving away from the door, inching forward as he watched her suspiciously, monitoring each of her movements carefully. She ignored him, carefully inspecting wounds and changing bandages. She checked for broken bones and fevers. Checked for pupil dilation and reflex responses. The youngest of the three was a boy barely over 10. He wouldn't wake up. She could tell. He was in a coma, or perhaps brain dead. She moved quickly onto the next patient, not allowing herself to stop and think. The guard would pick up on any reaction she made and any reaction could be detrimental to Murphy. She couldn't do anything for the child, but she could save Murphy.

As she reached out a hand to the tray of tools Clarke made sure the guard could clearly see the small sharp blade as she slowly and deliberately lifted it. He reacted instantly, lunging forward and grasping her by the wrist. They faced each other across the table, arms hovering over the body of the patient. Clarke looked him straight in the eye and spoke.

"Her stomach is rigid. That means there's internal bleeding. I need to make an incision to try and drain it." He hesitated, looking uncertain. "I need to roll her onto her side. Here, hold her here." She moved then, taking his hand and pulling it across the table to place it on the patient's side. The grounder released her wrist, stretching across now with both hands and bracing the patients side as Clarke pushed. He looked up at Clarke. She nodded at him.

"That's it. Hold her steady."

This was it, the chance she had been waiting for. In one quick and precise movement Clarke reached out and sliced through skin. One swipe and hot wet blood burst free. It splattered red all around them as it gushed with the steady pulses of a heartbeat, flowing out in a thick and steady stream. The smell of it scented the air. Clarkes hands were slick and slippery as she clutched the blade tightly. Watching. A low moan gurgled wetly in the grounders throat as he clutched at his neck. The whites of his eyes shown with fear as he stared at her with round eyes. He stumbled, his large frame careening forward into the table, hitting it with a thud before dropping to crumple lifeless on the ground.

* * *

"Please be ok. Please be ok. Please be ok." Clarke muttered the words under her breath over and over again like a prayer as she made her way back to Murphy. She had bolted from the room the moment the grounders body had hit the ground, and was frantically clinging to the numb calmness that had settled over her mind since then. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest as she tried to merge into the darkness and slink through the shadows like nothing more than a swift breeze.

Finally reaching the right building Clarke came to a halt at the corner and a bubble of anxiety swelled in her chest as she observed the grounder guarding the door. He was still fiddling with some tools and a greasy cloth, completely unaware of his surroundings. Their pack and the two sacks of guns laying waiting at his feet. This man could very well be all that stood between her and Murphy; all that stood between them and freedom. She tightened her grip on the blade in her hand, it was slick and sticky with blood and her fingers trembled as the adrenaline surged through her body.

Once more Clarke pulled up a wall inside her and forced all her emotions, all her doubts and uncertainties back behind it. Once more she buried the scared little girl deep inside of herself and slipped on the mask of a determined leader. She emerged from the shadows and once more she struck, attacking to take another human life.

Only this time she wasn't as confident in her actions. That split second gave the grounder time to react and although he was never going to be quick enough to avoid the deep slice she carved into his neck, he flailed in a way that the other hadn't. There was panic and pain. It was slow, and ugly, and repugnant. They were frozen together in that moment as it stretched out painfully around them. They waited for death to come, their arms locked together: her holding the knife imbedded into his artery and him grasping at her in confusion. Clarke couldn't do anything to avoid the blow to her face as he thrashed desperately. Her cheekbone throbbed, but she was momentarily detached from the pain. His eyes - brown and deep and soulful - held onto hers as the life seeped out of him, and she watched it slowly ebb away, saw the light of life slowly dim in his eyes. The scuffle slowed and they both toppled to the ground. By then he was dead. Clarke pulled herself out from under his weight on shaky arms and stumbled towards the door.

* * *

Clarke found Murphy tied up and beaten, but alone. Her relief was so immense that it brought her to a halt at the threshold as she stared at him. He didn't look as bad as last time, there were no signs of torture just some bruises, his hands were still bound above his head leaving him to hang limp and lifeless by his wrists, his head dropping to the side to rest on his shoulder. The sight had her flashing back to when the 100 hung him, and a rush of feelings hit her violently: disgust, guilt, rage, pity, they all churned angrily in her gut. Then he moved slightly, his head lifting towards the door, his eyes meet hers across the room and Clarke rushed towards him.

* * *

They ran from the village. Running until the winking glint of firelight had long since vanished into the distance. Running until the only sounds around them were their pounding steps and their thumping hearts. Running until their chests burned and their legs ached and they couldn't run any longer.

They stopped to catch their breaths and get their bearings, to figure out the direction back to camp. It hit Clarke then, what she had done. She had killed two people. They weren't her first kills, but they weren't like before; she couldn't say that either of tonight's kills were done in mercy or even in self-defence. Because they weren't, not really, she had murdered in cold blood. _To save herself, to save Murphy, to save their camp_ ; she told herself, but the voice in her head sounded feeble and undecided.

She bent over doubled, panting and suddenly dizzy. She leaned up against a tree, her hands bracing against the rough bark as she fought not to wretch, only for her head to spin violently again as she spotted the blood stains on her hands. Her chest tightened, her throat closed, she couldn't breathe. Clarke stared at her hands in horror and started frantically scrubbing at them, rubbing them together and chaffing them violently against the sleeves of her jacket.

"Hey!" Murphy's voice was low but urgent and his grip on her arms tightened as he shook her. Her eyes found his and he stared down at her sternly. "Stay with me Princess. You did what you had to do. They wouldn't have hesitated to kill us." She looked up at him, her eyes staying fixed on his as she let his words sink in. Clarke let herself take comfort from them, and from him, from the feel of his hands gripping her tightly, like he was literally holding her together.

As her breathing began to slow Murphy looked at her properly, taking in the details of her appearance. He frowned, his hands coming up to hold either side of her head gently as he studied her. The thumb of his left hand drew back a lock of her hair that was wet and stick with blood. His right hand hovered for a moment as his eyes trailed over her face; first his thumb ghosted over the graze on her chin, then it moved up to her cheekbone, tenderly circling the bruise forming there. She remembered the pain there as it returned with a throb, the numbness that had settled there now brushed aside by the sensation of Murphy's hand cupping her cheek.

Clarke's eyes were fixed on his lip which was burst open and swollen. She stared at the bruise and drying blood and almost sagged with relief that his injuries weren't more serious. She watched his lips part and then heard the soft gasp. She looked up to his eyes to find them looking intently back at her. Clarke realised then the intimacy of what she was doing: standing so close to him, hands clutching at the front of his jacket, staring at his lips. Her gaze dropped back to his lips and up again to his eyes as these thoughts sluggishly filtered through her mind. She saw the bob and slide of his throat as he swallowed.

 _Snap_

It was a gently sound, muffled by the denseness of the forest, barely more than a rustling of branches. But it was enough to make them both go rigid. Murphy's hands dropped from Clarkes face, falling to her shoulders and squeezing tightly. They stood, bodies tense, eyes frantically searching.

"We have to move." Murphy whispered.

Clarke nodded. It wasn't safe. They had to get back to the camp. _The grounders were coming._

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think._


	13. Chapter 13

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

They weren't as far away from camp as they had feared. Despite the darkness of the night and the hazards of the forest, they moved quickly and it wasn't long before they were in familiar territory, approaching the outskirts of the camp.

Clarke and Murphy heard the shouts go up as soon as they were within sight of the camp walls and they instantly slowed their pace, not wanting to scare one of the nightshift guards into shooting at them.

Warnings rang out. Voices raising the alarm: _'_ _Two approaching!'_. Calls echoed back and forth between the watchtowers along the wall as the lookouts spotted them. A tense caution was barked out to them through the darkness; not to come any closer: _"_ _We'll shoot!"_

Clarke and Murphy peered up at the watch towers, holding their hands out wide in surrender and making their faces clearly visible as they gradually inched closer to the gate with cautious steps.

Then there was recognition.

"Wait." A voice called out hopefully as they approached the gate.

"It's Clarke and Murphy." Another voice rang out.

"Open the gate!" The order went out.

* * *

As soon as they were safely behind the camp walls the last bit of strength and energy drained out of them leaving them numb and exhausted. Clarke fell to her knees feeling weak and dazed. Murphy stood beside her, hunched forward with his hands braced on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Exhaustion gripped them both firmly in its claws as the fear and adrenaline fizzled out of their tired limbs leaving them both limp and shaking. Injuries that had been forgotten in their hasty escape started to throb with pain, joined also by sensations of hunger and tiredness.

Murphy and Clarke were both aware of the eyes watching them, staring down at them from their posts in stunned silence, but neither of them looked up, too weary to care what people saw or what they were thinking. Not many people were awake in the camp at this hour, just a shift of lookouts in each of the watchtowers and a set of guards at the gate. One of the guards who had opened the gate for them had immediately ran off into the camp, to get Bellamy Clarke assumed, she could hear him returning now, his hurried footsteps followed by several other sets of boots stamping quickly towards them.

"What the hell Clarke," Bellamy's voice carried across the camp as he made his way towards them. "I said be back by dark. It's almost morning!"

At the sound of Bellamy's angry reprimand Clarke and Murphy fought once again to muster some energy.

Murphy pushed away the remaining dregs of fear and determinedly ignored the pain thrumming through his body as he straightened up out of his crouch with a groan. Clarke took a deep breath and pushed back the rousing wave of shock and emotion that was threatening to crash over her, and with another steadying breath she climbed back up onto her feet. Their night wasn't over yet. They both turned to face Bellamy.

"Shit _._ " Bellamy swore as he came to an abrupt halt in front of them, with Miller and Justin close on his heels. He took in their appearance: pale, filthy, and struggling to catch their breath. They were slumped with exhaustion, and marred by cuts and bruises and dirt. His gaze lingered on Clarke's blood drenched hands and sleeves, and on Murphy's bruised and swollen face. "What the hell happened?" Bellamy croaked out, his voice raw with shock.

"There's no time." Clarke shook her head and told him. "The grounders. They're coming tomorrow. A whole army of them."

"You saw them?"

"No. Anya told me."

"The grounder princess?" Bellamy questioned.

"It's a long story." Clarke sighed impatiently. "Anya said _'_ _the Commander has summoned every clan for miles around'."_ Clarke repeated. _"_ She said that _'_ _tomorrow thousands of grounder warriors will go to battle…and your people will be destroyed'_." Her voice quietly trailed off until she was saying the last statement under her breath, almost as though she were talking to herself, caught up in remembering her conversation with Anya and the fear and desperation that had followed her words.

Murphy reached out and squeezed her shoulder. A pale faced Miller cursed under his breath.

Bellamy swallowed. His face stony and grim.

"Ok." He said after a pause. "We're ready for this."

"Are we?" Miller asked in a quiet voice.

"Yes." Bellamy answered, sounding determined now.

"Good." Clarke said, reassured by Bellamy's confidence. "We can do this." Bellamy nodded in agreement.

"We have defences. We have a plan." He said.

"We have more guns and ammo." Added Murphy pulling the two sacks from the bunker off of his back and dropping them to the ground in front of them.

"You did it." Bellamy stared at them stunned.

"There's not a lot." Murphy muttered, looking away from the impressed stares of Miller and Bellamy and bending to pull the sacks open. "We only got six more guns, but there's loads of boxes of-"

"Stop right there!" A cold voice cut across him. Murphy froze, his hands holding open the canvas to revel its contents. "Don't touch anything." Justin stood with his gun aimed directly at Murphy's head. Clarke went rigid. Miller reached for his gun.

"Justin." Bellamy barked out in warning. "What-"

But he was drowned out by Clarke.

"What the hell are you doing?" She hissed.

Bellamy saw the colour come back into her pale face as her anger flared, filling her with new energy.

"Put that down." She sternly ordered Justin, taking a step towards him. Bellamy watched in confusion as Justin's cold black eyes left Murphy, snapping to look at Clarke with the same deadly intent. His gun moved slightly. Bellamy saw Murphy tense as he watched Justin closely.

"Easy Clarke." Murphy said softly his eyes still trained on Justin. He slowly released his hold on the sack which flopped shut at his feet and slowly straightened up. Standing as still as possible and still keeping his gaze fixed on Justin he slowly reached a hand out to his side grabbing a hold of Clarkes wrist and gently tugging her back again.

A crackle of tension filled the air as Justin stood facing Murphy and Clarke, staring them down with his gun aimed towards them, a sack of guns and ammunition laying between them.

Murphy felt Clarke trembling under his fingertips. His eyes darted quickly to the side to look at her. He didn't let go of her wrist, instead he moved his grip, letting the pad of his thumb brush across the soft skin on the underside of her wrist in an attempt to sooth her. His anger towards Justin increased. She was going to lose it again he realised, her control was slipping and he didn't want her to break in front of Justin and the other guards, he knew she wouldn't want that.

"This is ridiculous." Bellamy snapped, fed up of watching the strange standoff. "Put the damn gun down Justin."

"Ridiculous? I'm trying to _protect_ us all." he shouted defiantly. "What happened the last time Murphy _escaped_ from the grounders and returned to our camp?" he sneered venomously, his eyes fixed on Murphy. A lick of fear ghosted down Bellamy's spine as his eyes snap to Clarke and Murphy.

"What?" Clarke hissed, edging forward again only to be pulled back again, this time closer to Murphy's side. Her question was echoed by Miller and Bellamy and some of the guards near enough to hear them, only theirs sounded more confused and wary. Bellamy noticed with unease the looks of suspicion now being directed towards Clarke and Murphy.

"I'm not sick." Murphy ground out through clenched teeth. "I barely saw a grounder long enough to be infected. We were just tied up in a room. Then we escaped." It wasn't the whole truth, and Murphy didn't want to be explaining _any_ of this to Justin. But if they weren't careful about this, things could get out of hand.

"Really?" Justin sneered. "And what about her?" he asked, turning to face Clarke with his gun still raised, the barrel now migrating from its position trained on Murphy to slide towards Clarke.

"She's not sick either." Murphy snapped taking an angry step forward. Bellamy watched on stunned and confused, his eyes following the exchange back and forth. He was used to the animosity vibrating out of Murphy, he had always been angry and aggressive, but there was something else there in Murphy's tense shoulders and ferocious glare that confused Bellamy, something distinctly protective. He still had a hold of Clarke's wrist, and she stood close to his side as they faced Justin with matching scowls. He noted the searing anger in Clarke's stare which was almost as severe as the intense cold hatred pouring from Murphy. Murphy might be quick to anger but it seemed his aggression was matched by Clarke's own fury, and while she loved to argue with anyone in sight Bellamy knew that it took a lot to get the Princess so heatedly angry. Bellamy realised that there was much more going on than he was aware of. He glanced quickly to Miller and saw him anxiously gripping his gun as he watched, looking just as confused and concerned as he was.

"We're just supposed to believe you?" Justin sneered. "Why should we take the risk of half the camp getting sick, with an army of grounders heading this way?" Bellamy heard a murmur of doubt whispering through the onlookers. He shifted his weight impatiently as the air seemed to thicken with an electric tension. Something had to be done, now. It seemed that Murphy felt the same sense of urgency. He suddenly moved, advancing furiously towards Justin, completely ignoring the gun pointed at his chest as he prowled forward.

"Listen, you _son-of-a_ -"

But the instant his hand had released its hold on Clarke's wrist she had reached out with her hand and grabbed a hold of him.

"Murphy don't." she muttered to him, both of her smaller hands grasping onto his larger one and pulling sharply. He stopped, the venomous words paused in his throat, his icy glare still pinned on Justin. Justin had raised his gun higher, his finger quivering over the trigger as his chest rapidly rose and fell.

Everyone seemed to freeze, watching and waiting. Waiting for what, Bellamy wasn't sure…for the crack of Justin's gun, for the smack of Murphy's fist…? Everyone stood motionless, barely breathing as they watched Clarke attempting to reign in Murphy's furry with little more than a touch of her hand and a whisper of words.

"He's-" Murphy started to protest in a low growl but Clarke spoke over him again.

"I know." she quickly assured him, keeping a tight hold on his hand. Murphy's eyes darted away from Justin to look at her and his anger lagged slightly when his stormy grey eyes locked with her blue ones. There was a pleading look in her eyes and he could still feel her trembling as her hands clutched his. The events of the night were catching up with her and her mask was cracking. She needed this night to be over, they both did. But he hesitated, not able to do _nothing_.

"He followed us through the forest with a gun at the ready." He reminded her in a low murmur that no one else could hear.

"I know." She agreed. "But even although he's the one holding the gun right now, to _them_ , _we_ seem like the bigger threat." She whispered to him, her eyes darting to look at Justin and then Bellamy, and Miller, and the few gathered onlookers. They all looked anxious and apprehensive. "He's trying to manipulate you, so if you fight him now it makes you the bad guy. _Let it go_." She begged quietly, desperate to put an end to it. "For now." She added, when he tensed, sensing his reluctance and lingering anger. "You can beat the crap out of him next time." He stared at her a moment, considering, then seeing the sincerity in her eyes he relented with a curt nod of his head. He returned his gaze to Justin with a dark and menacing glare, but his clenched muscles uncoiled. Some of the tension eased out of Clarke as Murphy's rigid posture loosened slightly. Justin narrowed his eyes suspiciously looking back and forth between the pair.

"Fine." Murphy spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. There was a ripple of hesitation and Justin noticeable faltered, not sure what Murphy was agreeing to. Was that his answer to Justin's accusations, or was that a response to his whispered conversation with the Princess?

As the pause of hesitation held the crackle of tension that had been building began to slacken. The guards watching along the perimeter began to shuffle as the moment deescalated. Having watched Clarke successfully talk Murphy back down off of the precipice of violence, Bellamy sensed his chance and quickly stepped in to take control.

"Clarke, Murphy, go to the dropship; you're under quarantine, as a precaution." He spoke firmly. "Justin hand over your gun, now." Bellamy ordered. "Everyone else: back to your posts. Miller it's time to double the guards. Gather a group and meet me at the ammunition tent. Let's go everyone!"

* * *

"You know we don't need to be quarantined." Clarke muttered angrily to Bellamy as he came to stand beside them once everyone else moved away.

"You might not be infected. But if you don't want the camp to turn on you then you need to be quarantined."

"Bellamy the grounders-"

"We've been waiting for this Clarke. We knew it was coming. We've made preparations, we have plans."

"I know that. But we can't help if you shut us up in the dropship."

"You'll help. Just not right now." He told her firmly. "It's the middle of the night Clarke. You both need to wash and rest. Go fix yourselves up, eat, and get some sleep." Seeing that she was about to protest he spoke more gently, as he assured her. "Nothing is going to happen in the next couple of hours."

Clarke's exhaustion returned to her then. Her anger was gone, her fight faded and in its place was shock and pain and fear. Clarke's shoulder slumped as she breathed a shuddering sigh, suddenly wilting under the weight of the night's events. Bellamy's eyes slid to Murphy and they exchanged a look that Clarke didn't have the energy to figure out.

"You both look like shit. Rest. We'll get you when it's time." Bellamy said. Clarke nodded and Murphy stepped up to her side, draping an arm around her shoulders.

"Come on Princess, after the night we've had I'm not going to say no to a warm bed in the dropship. And some food, we did miss dinner after all."

She relented, letting him lead her easily towards the dropship. The feel of Murphy's arm around her was like a soothing bam. She could feel the emotions she had been burying gradually jagging and pocking through her crumbling wall as flashes of the last several hours hurtled through her weary mind. She turned her body into Murphy's side as they walked, her own arm wrapping around his waist and clutching a handful of his jacket as she sunk against him, letting some of her weight rest against him.

* * *

 _Sorry for the delay, I got a bit stuck. Thanks for reading_

 _Thanks to everyone who reviews and follows and favourites. You're the best!_

 _Let me know what you think..._


	14. Chapter 14

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Fourteen**

Exhaustion pressed down on their shoulders like a heavy weight, making Murphy and Clarke sluggish and solemn as they climbed the ramp into the dropship. They moved silently – pausing briefly to quickly wash themselves with a container of water, scrubbing off the majority of the blood and grime that had crusted over their hands and faces – before finding a blanket each and curling up on cots to sleep.

But despite their exhaustion sleep didn't come quickly. They were both jittery and tense.

Murphy's body throbbed and burned with the pain of his brief beating. He knew it was nowhere near as bad as the last time he had been captured but that knowledge didn't stop the tremors of shock and distress that twitched through his muscles like electric pulses. His nerves frayed were from the mental trauma of having to relive such a terrifying ordeal.

He stretched out under his blanket and willed his muscles to unclench, pulling in slow drags of air to try and slow down his body and calm his mind. With a grimace of pain Murphy rolled onto his side to see Clarke. She looked just as wound up and frazzled as he felt, wriggling around and fidgeting with her blanket. There was a haunted look on her face that he had noticed getting gradually more pronounced since they escaped. Even with her eyes shut he could see the tight lines of stress in the taut skin around her mouth and the furrows on her forehead. Her face was pale with dark circles smudging her eyes and a flowering of bruises colouring her cheek. He observed her through the dim light as her movements stilled and her limbs gradually went limp, but within a few minutes she was jerking awake again, breathing heavily.

Once or twice Murphy felt himself slip into unconsciousness only to startle awake again with his heart pounding furiously, until he eventually had enough of the restless tossing and turning and rolled off of his cot with an irritated huff.

Clarke watched with heavy lidded eyes as Murphy got to his feet and slowly made his way towards her, swaying slightly with tiredness. He extended a hand to her which she accepted without question, letting him pull her up and lead her to the ladder where he ushered her up wordlessly to the top deck. Climbing up behind her, he pulled the hatch door firmly after him, letting it fall closed with a thud.

The top deck was warm and quiet. A still and silent calm instantly settled around them. With the reassuring barrier of the closed hatch door to keep them safe they were both immediately more at ease. Safe. That was how Clarke felt, and she could see the tension easing out of Murphy as he too started to relax.

"There." Murphy spoke softly "I know there are no cots up here but…"

"But we'll be able to hear anyone coming." Clarke finished for him. Looking into his eyes she knew their thoughts were running on similar tracks and nodded her understanding. "The sound of the hatch opening will wake us before anyone comes up. Good idea."

They quickly settled down again, wrapped up in their blankets. Without the cots to separate them they lay side by side, close but not quite touching. The top deck of the dropship was warm, quiet and dark; the hatch blocking out all noise from the camp outside, insulating them in their own little bubble. With a blanket wrapped around her and the comforting presence of Murphy beside her, Clarke slid easily into the blackness of sleep.

* * *

 _His face loomed in front of her. The eyes were vacant and soulless. Red, wet blood drenched her. Her throat constricted. She tried to scream but there was no air in her lungs._

 _Fear, panic, guilt, sorrow, hatred._

 _They came in waves, slamming into her and sizzling through her body like poison._

 _Lifeless staring eyes._

 _Blood._

 _Fear, panic, guilt, sorrow, hatred._

 _They looped over and over again, spinning her in dizzying circles. She tried to cry out, to make it stop. No! Stop!_

 _"No." she whimpered. A hand gripped her shoulder and shook her._

 _"Clarke!" a voice called out. There was something familiar about it, something good._

 _She strained towards it, fitting through the fog and confusion, desperate to escape._

"Clarke!"

She jumped, her eyes flying open as she gasped for air. Disorientated, Clarke's wide and frightened eyes darted around until they landed on Murphy's face, peering down at her with a look of concern. She latched onto that sight and it instantly grounded her, the last threads of her dream falling away as reality and clarity took root with each gulp of air she took. But the relief of her escape from the dream didn't help to dissipate the linger feelings, the emotions continued to spiral within her chest. A sob rose up, sharp and hot in her throat, and broke free in a shuddering breath.

Murphy watched her worriedly, waiting for her to realise where she was, waiting for her to remember that they weren't there anymore – because he was certain that was what she had been dreaming about – and hoping that once the remnants of the dream were chased away that she would calm down, and wouldn't look so frightened. The expression of fear on her face stirred ripples of nausea in his stomach. Her gaze latched onto his and he met it steadily, waiting and hoping. He watched as the disorientation and confusion melted away from her face but to Murphy's horror this only seemed to upset her further.

Clarke's large blue eyes grew wet as tears rapidly formed. He watched on in panic, debating whether he should release his hold on her shoulder and back away to give her some space, when a broken sob issued from her lips and she leapt towards him.

The force of her embrace pushed him back down from where he had been leaning on his elbow, knock him onto his back so he was lying down again. Her body moved with his as she pressed her small quivering form against him. She curled into his side ducking her head into his chest as another sob erupted from her. His arms came around her automatically, wrapping around her back and holding her against him as she cried into his shoulder. She buried her face into his jacket, her fists clutching at it with tightly clenched fists as she clung to him.

Words failed him. He couldn't tell her it would be ok, or that she was safe, not when they both knew a grounder army was heading right for them. So he didn't say anything. He just held her closer, whispering hushes in her ear, and rubbing soothing circles across her back while she cried herself out.

Long after Clarkes tears had stopped they remained that way: with Clarkes body, now loose and pliant, tucked into Murphy's side. They drifted off to sleep, their bodies finally slack and relaxed in the comfort of one another's embrace; Clarkes hands tucked under the folds of his jacket and Murphy's fingers buried in her blonde curls where her head lay on his chest.

* * *

Their legs were tangled together, the blankets overlapped, wrapping and twisting around them. They lay facing each other, noses barely an inch apart, one of Clarke's hands resting palm flat against his chest and one of Murphy's arms looping casually over her waist. Murphy's eyes opened sleepily and he watched as Clarke's lids fluttered open too. Then he heard it, the sound of the hatch groaning, it's hinges squealing as it was pushed open and he realised that it was the sound of footsteps climbing the ladder that woke them both simultaneously. They both quickly sat up, eyes flying to the hatch, though they didn't make any move to separate, in fact Murphy thought he felt Clarke slid a little closer as they sat up to face whoever was coming.

Bellamy's head emerged from the lower deck as he ascended the ladder and climbed through the open hatch. When his gaze found them a look of surprise flitted across his face as he observed their closeness and the nest of blankets tangling them together. He met Clarke's steady gaze and arched an eyebrow in silent question, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

"Are they here?" she asked. Bellamy's expression darkened, all traces of amusement melting away.

"It's time. You need to come down." He told them gravely.

As soon as they stepped out of the dropship they were met by a wave of noise. The sky was a muted grey veiled with wisps of white morning mist, the predawn light gradually ebbing away the darkness of the night. Clarke guessed there was still an hour or so before the sun would be seen peaking over the tree tops on the east and yet already the camp was bustling and full. Everyone was awake and busily scuttling about. Noises of work and voices buzzed through the air and made it vibrate with nervous energy. Clarke drew in a deep breath of air that was thick with the smell of smoke and metal. Bellamy led them towards the gate, marching purposefully through the hive of activities surrounding them.

"Oh God." Clarke breathed when she stepped up onto the platform to look out beyond the gate. She felt Murphy climb up beside her and heard him curse under his breath at the sight before them. Beyond the line of the trees there was an ominous black mass; it rippled and writhed with movement. Occasionally the distinct shape of a person or the metal glint of a weapon could be seen in the dim predawn light. But Clarke didn't need to see them, she could hear them. Beneath the ruckus of the camp an undercurrent of noise pulsed from beyond the trees. The banging of drums - or perhaps the clanging of weapons - beat through the air towards them carrying with it angry yells and roars. Ice cold fear trickled down Clarkes spin as the hairs on the base of her neck stood on end.

"There are a lot of them." Bellamy spoke solemnly beside them. "But they don't seem to be attacking yet. They've sent a few scouts through the trees. Some of our guards have reported seeing some of them running from one side to the other. But given their obvious numbers I don't know why they haven't just launched a full frontal attack yet."

"They're trying to scare us." Murphy muttered darkly.

"We can't be intimidated. We wait them out." Clarke said determinedly.

"Agreed." Said Bellamy. "I gave orders not to shoot unless they are headed directly for us. And they have to cross the minefield before they get in shooting range."

"Good." Said Clarke. "That's good. Let's make sure they don't scare us into making the first move."

* * *

They all had jobs to do: specific tasks and responsibilities. It was what kept them from going mad with fear. Bellamy had rushed off to check in with each of the guards on watch; he was getting reports from each of them in person to make sure they were properly informed. What they wouldn't give for some ark technology right about now: radios, walkies, armour, weapons, flood lights, medicine…

But the 100 had been making do on earth for a while now and Clarke threw herself into the task of checking their supplies and organising the things they would need. She needed to be prepared for casualties once the fighting started, but also to make sure the dropship was fully stocked with provisions, ready for everyone to fall back once the time was right. That was the final plan. They would defend the walls for as long as possible. But ones the inevitable happened, as soon as the grounders broke in, they would retreat to the dropship, seal the doors and set off an explosion of land mines and rocket fuel that would burn the entire camp to the ground, grounders and all. Her stomach twisted as she stepped over one of the carefully planted wires surrounding the dropship, all expertly fused and linked by the combined genius of Raven, Monty and Jasper. Walked out into the camp she looked around her at all the faces; so many people, all working hard. Everyone was scared but they were still working, working together. They had achieved so much, and against all the odds. Now it had come down to this. Now was the time. This is what they have been preparing for. The 100 - a group of juvenile delinquents - were about to become soldiers in a war; they would fight, and kill, and die.

* * *

Murphy had gone to see Miller, to get a gun and find out where he was needed. He was going to the front line, taking a spot along the wall to defend their home. He was heading towards Clarke with his gun in hand when it happened.

A sheen of golden sunlight broke free over the tops of the trees, the first rays of morning light striking the camp in a radiant beam.

Instantly a long and piercing blast of sound reverberated through the air. The noise of the horn was followed by the bellows and roars of a thousand grounder warriors.

Clarke and Murphy turned to each other. Clarke watched as he hesitated then, casting one more glance at her he turned towards the wall.

"Murphy." She called out to him over the drone of the grounder war cries, running towards him. She grabbed his arm and he turned to her. Clarke wondered whether it was desperation or fear that she could see swimming in the grey of his eyes?

As the air continued to quiver with the blast of the grounder war horn, the ground beneath their feet suddenly started to quake and rumble with the vibration of a thousand feet as the grounders charged. Murphy's head whipped towards the gate. Shouts of alarm and cries of panic sounded from every guard stationed along the wall.

"This is it." A voice called out.

"Their coming." Rang out another.

"Wait." Bellamy's order sounded clear and steady above the noise. "Hold your fire. Steady!"

Murphy stepped away from her, heading towards Bellamy but Clarke's grip tightened forcing him to turn back to her.

"Clarke-" He started impatiently, but she interrupted him.

"Just…be careful, ok?" The words were barely a whisper but she knew he heard them from the way his body stilled.

His eyes met hers, a slight frown pressing at his brows as he considered her. She watched him curiously as he pulled in a deep breath and drew back his shoulders. Then he stepped towards her. He reached for her with only the slightest waver of uncertainty in his movements as his hand brushed her arm, sliding over her shoulder and then up the back of her neck and into her hair. His fingers tightened and then in a quick motion he leaned into her, pressing his lips to hers in an urgent kiss.

Just as quickly as he initiated the kiss Murphy broke away, barley giving her enough time to pull in a ragged breath before he swiftly pulled back and ran towards the wall without a backward glance.

Clarke stared after him. Breathing heavily and blinking rapidly she brought a shaking hand up to touch her lips.

A few seconds later her lips were still tingling from the press of his kiss as the bang of exploding landmines began ripping through the air followed instantly by the crack of gun fire.

* * *

 _Thanks to everyone who is reading._

 _Let me know what you think._


	15. Chapter 15

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Fifteen**

They didn't hold out long. They were never going to.

Not a group of teenagers from a space station against an army of honed warriors. They had settled into their little camp, built on the exact spot where they crash landed on the planet, and they had built their walls around it. It was naïve but they let themselves believe that they were protected, as though their walls of wooden planks made their camp an impenetrable fortress. As though by erecting a wall they could somehow insulate themselves and keep the monsters out. It didn't take the grounders long to show them that their walls were no barrier, they weren't built with stone or concrete or metal like the blockade the 100 wished it to be.

The monsters got in.

* * *

"Here's another one." A voice behind Clarke shouted. She turned to face her next patient.

Blood, so much blood and gore. War was messy. They never told you that in history lessons. Battles were - slippery blood, torn flesh, gaping wounds, broken bone. Pain. Blood curdling screams of pain and agony.

 _Clear the wound._

 _Stop the bleeding._

 _Close the wound._

It was simple commands like this that kept Clarke moving through the horror. The instructions sounded in her head. They were the only thoughts she allowed to enter into her mind while she worked.

"Hold this." She spoke briskly, barely looking her patient in the face as she compressed the bleeding gash with a thick handful of the spongey absorbent moss that she used for gauze. She didn't want to know who it was. She didn't have the time to be friendly or reassuring. She was silent, the blank mask of a doctor - of a leader - firmly in place as she blocked out everything other than her patient, everything horrible happening outside the dropship, the crying and the screaming and the ever present crack of gunfire in the background. The wall in her mind was one of impenetrable steel and she forced all her fear, all her panic, every thought and every emotion far back behind it.

She worked furiously. Ceaselessly. Treating one casualty after another. Desperately trying to save lives.

Clarke was so absorbed in her work, so focused on what was right in front of her that she didn't realise what was going on around her. She didn't notice when more and more people streamed into the dropship, or that they were running – retreating. She didn't notice that it was time, that they were enacting the final plan – until it was too late.

The creaking groan of the heavy dropship door being hoisted shut pulled Clarke from her absorbed trance. She stopped what she was doing – dressing a wound from a spear that had been embedded in a girl's thigh. She looked up and saw Harper giving her a tight lipped smile of thanks through a grimace of pain. Clarke squeezed Harpers shoulder reassuringly, feeling slightly guilty for not having realised who it was before now, and turned to survey the dropship. With a jolt of surprise Clarke observed that it was filled with dozens of people; all bloody and dirty, some crying, some injured, all waiting. With a final creak of the mechanism and the grinding of metal the door was closed. The sound drew her attention and an ember of worry flared in Clarke's stomach. Miller gave the order and the dropship was sealed shut, the airlock hissing. Clarke only had a fraction of a second to wonder why it was Miller and not Bellamy. Then Miller was turning to Monty and Jasper and giving them the order to detonate. Again Clarke only had time to watch on and in that moment the briefest thought of why wasn't it Raven flickered in her mind. The ember of anxiety gnawing inside of her turned cold. Then there was a roar so loud she thought she had gone deaf. The dropship shook violently and the world caught fire.

Clarke had turned her mind off and let herself function on autopilot since the fighting began. But now her senses came rushing back. It was like waking suddenly from a dream, as though a dormant part of her mind had just been switch back on and with it a tidal wave of thoughts hit her with crushing force. Panic seized her. Her breathing became ragged and her chest constricted painfully.

It was done: the final step, their last resort. The grounders, their camp, everything and anything and _anyone_ surrounding the little metal womb of the dropship was burning in a blazing fire of rocket fuel.

Seconds ticked heavily by. Clarkes eyes scanned frantically over the gathered faces. There were, she guessed, maybe forty or fifty people. Her stomach turned to lead. So many missing. The roar of the flames surrounded them. Heat scolded the air as the walls began radiating a burning heat. Clarkes chest rose and fell quickly as fear gripped her heart. Her eyes search again, scanning every corner, but a rising dread was filling her. A cold trickle of horror crawled down her spine as her frantic gaze came to rest on Miller again. His face was drawn and pale, and his sad dark eyes met hers then quickly fell away.

No.

Ice coursed through her veins.

They weren't here. No Murphy. No Bellamy. No Octavia. No Raven. No Finn…

They hadn't made it.

 _No Murphy._

The words clanged around inside her head. Her heart shattered.

* * *

Clarke didn't know how long they waited for it to burn out. The roar of the flames and crackle of fire had long vanished but they all stayed still and silent inside their cocoon, numb from war and from shock and smothered by a clawing jagged grief.

It was Fox, a freckle faced brown haired girl who was the first to break the heavy silence. Tears were streaming steadily down her pale cheeks and she was barely conscious from the gaping wound in her stomach which had been pierced by a grounder arrow. She lay prone on the ground where Clarke had stitched her up earlier but her words filled the dropship when she tilted her head towards Clarke and said "We have to go back out."

Clarke turned hollow eyes to Miller.

"Open the door." the order was flat and emotionless. Miller and two others silently unsealed the door and cranked the mechanism to reel it open. A cloud of smoke instantly began to billow in the doorway, lapping at the clear air inside. No one moved to step out, to step into the thick soup of smoky acrid smelling air that blocked their view of anything beyond it, blotting out the light of the sun. It was as though they had landed on a different planet, one engulfed in foggy swirls of ash grey winds.

Beyond the smog there was silence. It was Harper, with one arm slung over Monty's shoulder, who was the first to step out. Clarke numbly watched the small blonde haired girl slowly limp forward, with Monty as her crutch, and marvelled at her bravery as she inched her way down the ramp and into the smoky depths beyond. Jasper followed behind them and then Miller, and soon everyone was slowly venturing out. They left the dropship tentatively, much like the first time they stepped out onto earth when they first landed, Clarke observed silently.

Nothing. There was nothing left but smoke and ash and a deathly silence. Nausea churned in Clarke's stomach as she looked around. She stilled as a movement caught her eye. The smog swirled in a gust of wind and a shadow formed. Around her the others had stopped, freezing in place as all around them shadows solidified. Suited men surrounded them and advanced towards them like angels of death dressed in white spacesuits. They didn't have time to react. The last thing Clarke saw was the red lasers of their guns cutting through clouds of ash and smoke as they were aimed towards them. She stumbled on shaking legs, dully noting that she should feel fear, an adrenaline spike, _something_ … But she felt nothing. Clarke felt as empty and barren as the crater they were standing in, as though she herself - her soul - had been built into their camp, tied into its foundations and linked to each of its people. But now their camp was obliterated. What the hell had they done?

Her last thought before unconsciousness took her wasn't about these strange new people descending on them through the smoke, it wasn't about herself or what could be about to happen to her, there was no fear in her mind only the familiar swell of doubt and guilt and regret as a single thought screamed through her mind: _What the hell have we done?_

* * *

Clarke was confused, her thoughts were hazy and her mind was sluggish as she fought her way out of sleep. But her body wouldn't cooperate and she was gradually losing the tug-of-war against unconsciousness. Vaguely she noted that the air was stale, that bright lights burned behind her closed eyelids, and that something was beeping rhythmically beside where she was lying on something very soft and comfortable. Then consciousness fell away.

She broke through the surface of sleep and filled her lungs with a deep breath of stale air in a long and slow rhythm. Clarke thought of Murphy, saw an image of his pale face and smoky grey eyes, remembered the press of warm lips. Her heart warmed at the memory. Then she felt a sharp stab of grief, she saw the faces gathered in the dropship and his wasn't there. Grief burned through her body and hollowed her out until she felt nothing else and thought of nothing else, and sleep pulled her under again.

When she woke again it was to a lingering sting of sorrow and the burn of bright lights. Her mind provided her with an image of Murphy and a feeling of loss. She fought for more, searching for memories, for rational thought, for logic. Clarke tugged on each thread of thought, pulling them together and weaving them into a bigger picture and a more solid awareness. More of the fog cleared and she remembered with vivid clarity the moment the rocket fuel was lit and she had realised that Murphy wasn't inside the dropship. Neither were Bellamy or Octavia or Raven or Finn. Bile rose in her throat as the thought turned over and over in her mind. Her friends were most likely dead, she thought. They _must_ be dead. How many others had died? Would she ever get answers, ever find out what happened to them? Despair tunnelled deep into her heart and she willed herself back into sleep, to the refuge of unconsciousness.

The air was stale because she was inside; in a room with concrete walls, floor and ceiling; no windows and a closed door with no handle. The lights were electric and their sharp brightness reflected off of the sheer white of the room. Clarke lay on a white hospital bed, dressed in a white hospital gown, attached to a white machine which beeped along with each racing pulse of her heart. She'd never been anywhere like it before, never seen anything like it before. Was this real…? Where the hell was she? Where were the others? Adrenaline surged through her body in frightened waves.

The hiss of an airlock seal breaking was followed by a click and then the door to her room was opened. Clarke sad up quickly in her bed and watched warily as a tiny woman with wispy grey hair entered the room. She wore an old-fashioned white pinafore hospital uniform and her wrinkled skin was so pale and frail looking Clarke thought she might be able to see right through it to the veins and bones beneath if she got close enough.

"Who are you?" Clarke asked "Where am I?"

"Good afternoon Miss Griffin how are you feeling today?" the old woman gave her a brittle smile then turned her attention to the screens of the machines beside the bed.

" _Where am I?"_ Clarke repeated anxiously "And who are you? Where are my friends."

"This is Mount Weather. You are in one of our…" the woman hesitated for a moment before continuing, "medical rooms. Welcome." Another false smile pulled at her lips as she regarded Clarke with cold eyes. A chill swept over her.

"Where are my friends. Why did you bring us here? How did we get here?" Clarke questioned.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions Miss Griffin. Now that you're awake I'm here to do a quick assessment and then I can take you to see the others." Even as tingles of suspicion prickled at her through her muffled mind something in Clarke's chest swelled with hope.

"Others? Who…how many…are they-" the words stuttered out of her, her mind still sluggish and disjointed from being unconscious and the spike of emotions was only overwhelming her further.

"Most of your friends are staying in one of our dormitories." The old woman cut her off. "Some, like you, are still under medical observation. You will get answers soon enough. Shall we begin?"

* * *

As much as she tried to fight against it her mind was still heavy and lethargic. Clarke found it difficult to concentrate on the few things the old woman said to her during the medical assessment. She realised quickly that her body was just as slow and limp as her mind. But the old woman seemed satisfied and with another tight lipped smile she told Clarke she was discharged.

"Follow me Miss Griffin." She said then turned and marched out of the room. She offered no assistance to Clarke who stumbled along slowly behind her on weak and wobbling legs. Leaning against the wall for support Clarke followed the old woman along the corridor, it was white and long and narrow, and dotted with numerous doors like the one leading out of Clarkes room – all unmarked and without handles. At the end of the corridor was a set of double doors. The old woman punched a code into the panel on the wall, the panel beeped and the doors opened.

Clarke gasped and stumbled back a step. Before her the doors opened into a large room. Noise and colour greeted her and the tendrils of fear that had been floating through her hazy consciousness evaporated at the welcome sights and sounds. Clarke stepped slowly into the room, eyes wide and searching as she took it all in. Dozens of beds, the hum of chattering voices, the sight of familiar faces smiling at her.

"Clarke! Hi!"

Her breathing was ragged as she stared at the people moving closer to her and greeting her warmly. Relief and happiness blossomed in her chest. Her people: they were here, alive, together, _safe_.

Monty and Jasper reached her first grabbing her arms and pulling her into the centre of the room where several others came and gathered around them in a huddle of happy faces, friendly smiles, and warm welcomes. Clarke was only half listening, struggling to concentrate on all of the chatter as she tried to take it all in. She stared out at the gathered faces as though they were all a mi'raj that could disappear at any moment.

"How many?" She finally spoke, asking the question in a weak and croaky voice.

"We don't know." Shrugged Monty "I was one of the first brought in here. Everyone's been arriving one at a time for about a week maybe?" he turned to Jasper for confirmation who shrugged back. "I don't know it's hard to tell how long it's been."

"They don't tell us much," said Jasper "but from what we've gathered, everyone wakes up in a room on their own, and a mean old witch comes to do a medical assessment. Then they get brought in here."

"Everyone is always pretty out of it for the first 24 hours." Continued Monty. "Then they get to meet President Wallace." He shuddered dramatically "He's the leader here. It's like some weird interview. They call it _'_ _your official welcome'_." Monty made quotation marks with his fingers. Jasper nodded, his face screwed into a grimace of distaste.

"Creepy dude. He just _knows_ stuff."

"Knows stuff?" Clarke repeated.

"They know a lot more than just our names." Jasper explained with a frown, "and we don't know how. No one we spoke to has told them anything, at least not that they've admitted."

"From what they have told us, and from us asking everyone here, we think this is almost everyone." Monty told her. "You're one of the last ones to join us."

"This is all of us?" she asked, her eyes worriedly darting around.

"It's more than we thought would survive." Monty said softly.

"So… Bellamy…? And Raven…and-" she cut herself off, her throat clenching painfully. Monty and Jasper both flinched, their eyes meeting to share a look before they turned back to her, shaking their heads sadly.

"They weren't in the dropship." Monty shrugged helplessly.

"I'm sorry Clarke." Muttered Jasper.

"No! We don't know for sure." She protested. "Don't be sorry until we _know_." She looked away from the sadness in their eyes. Her gaze travelling over the room to search the faces again.

That was when she saw him.

Murphy.

All the air whooshed out of her in a sharp gasp as she caught sight of his face through the crowd. Her heart stumbled in her chest. Someone was still talking to her but she couldn't hear anything anymore except for the blood rushing in her ears. She was stunned. Frozen in place as she stared at him in disbelief and he stared back at her, his eyes bright and a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. And then she was in motion, without any awareness of making the decision to move. Clarke rushed towards him. She collided with his body with the force of a run but he stood solidly and absorbed the impact with a 'hmph' of exhaled air as the breath was slammed out of his chest. She pressed herself firmly against him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck and pulling herself as close as she could get. A huff of warm air tickled her ear at his breathy chuckle and his arms wrapped firmly around her waist, holding her to him.

"Miss me Princess?" his tone was light and teasing.

Overpowered by the sudden swell of emotions Clarke crumbled in his arms. She muffled her sobs into his neck as she burrowed into him, her tears starting to wet his skin and t-shirt. She felt his chest expand with a heavy sigh and his arms closed tighter around her. She surrendered herself fully to her tears knowing that Murphy would hold onto her. He was alive, he was here, they were together.

* * *

 _Thanks again to everyone out there who is reading this. I would love to hear what you think..._

 _And thanks to everyone who reviews and has followed/favourited, you are the greatest!_


	16. Chapter 16

Finally - an update. I am really sorry that it has been so long. I can assure you all that I will definitely be finishing this story, I already know where it's going I just got a bit stuck on how I was going to get there. I hope there are still some of you out there who want to keep reading this. This chapter feels a bit rusty but this is me brushing off the cobwebs, so I would really like to hear what you think (advice/suggestions/comments are all welcome). A gigantic THANK YOU to my reviewers, it was you who pulled me through the writers block. So, without further a do...

 **Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Sixteen**

Clarke wasn't sure whether it was the effects of coming out of the strange coma they had kept her in, and whatever drugs they must have used to do it; or if it was the result of the tumultuous emotions of being alive, and safe, and back with her friends, which overwhelmed her. But either way, she had very little memory of what happened after she ran into Murphy's arms. She knew that some time had passed since then, and she realised that at some point she must have fallen asleep. They had also relocated since then, because the last thing she remembered was being in the middle of the room surrounded by people, and now they were lying on a bed and completely alone. But she was still - she realised with a smile - in Murphy's arms.

Clarke yawned and stretched languidly, a small part of her brain registering that she was clinging to Murphy just as tightly as he was wrapped around her, their bodies pressed closely together in what could only be described as an intimate embrace. Clarke blinked the tiredness out of her eyes and saw that they were sprawled out on the bottom bed of the bunk at the furthest end of the large room. She was leaning against Murphy's chest, her arms wrapped around his torso and one of her legs hooked over his. For a fleeting second Clarke considered feeling awkward or embarrassed when she thought about how she had flung herself at Murphy; what if he didn't like how clingy she was being? Then she registered the feeling of Murphy's fingers stroking languidly through her hair and her chest swelled with a feeling of fuzzy warmth. She allowed herself to relish the feeling of total relaxation and noted that for the first time in a very long time she felt completely content. As her mind slowly started to resurface from its slumber Clarke allowed herself to burrow closer into Murphy's body heat, absently wondering where everyone else had gone. With a small sigh, she revelled in the feel of the soft mattress and the sense of total calm surrounding her.

Clarke shifted her position enough to tilt her head back and look up at Murphy. His hand stilled in her hair but he didn't pull it away as his grey eyes met hers. They stared at each other, their gaze's intent, eyes searching thoroughly with a connection that was even more intimate than the way their bodies lay pressed together. She let herself fall into the depth of those grey eyes as they lay there gazing at each other. Those eyes which used to be filled with such anger and bitterness now stared at her with warmth and affection. Things had changed so much between them in the last several weeks. When Murphy was thrown back into her life Clarke had been gripped by an overwhelming guilt. Her heart had ached for him. She had recognised the pain and loneliness in him as though it was a reflection of herself, it called out to her and she'd responded to it the only way she knew how: with kindness and care and an offer of friendship. It had been the best decision she ever made.

Reaching out to and connecting with Finn had been the worse decision she had ever made; it had left her feeling bitter and broken. The pain of that betrayal and the thought of it happening again, of making herself vulnerable like that again, had almost made her harden her heart. But at just the right moment John Murphy tumbled back into her life, broken and beaten and in desperate need of help. She had saved him that night, but he had also saved her by preventing her from completely closing off her heart. Murphy was still mean and sullen and sharp tonged, but she knew she could rely on him, she knew he was on her side. Clarke thought about him looking after her when she got sick, of him watching her back as they trekked through the forest, she remembered the reassurance she took from his presence when they were kidnapped, his solid strength, his support, his non-judgmental acceptance of her killing to help them escape. Their lives had been chaos these last few weeks but she had got through it all because she knew she had Murphy by her side. They had grown so close so quickly, he had become so important to her, and she hadn't let herself acknowledge that fact until the grounders were charging at their walls. Then he had kissed her. A stolen kiss at the height of an adrenaline-charged situation. Clarke wanted to communicate her feelings about that kiss. She wanted to tell him and show him all that she was thinking and feeling.

Clarke slowly tipped her face up towards Murphy's and watched as his eye darkened. The sudden expression of longing on his face made something flutter in her stomach as she leaned closer. She could feel his heart pounding under the palm of her hand where it rested against his chest. Her nose brushed against his and Murphy exhaled sharply, the heat of his breath tingling over her lips. Her lips parted, her tongue slipping out to wet her bottom lip. Murphy's gaze dropped, watching the motion. He leaned towards her, removing the last breath of space between them, and Clarke's eyes fluttered closed as their lips pressed together.

Their mouths moved together in a slow and steady rhythm. Clarke hummed at the feel of his lips, warm and soft against her own. Murphy's hands slid to Clarke's waist, holding her against him as he teased at her lips, parting them. She melted against him as their kiss deepened. Her tongue glided past his lips to taste him and Clarke felt the vibration of his groan as it rumbled at the back of his throat. His grip tightened on her waist and Clarke sighed into his mouth, gliding her hands up his warm chest to grip his shoulders.

The kiss was a slow exploration. It stretched on for several long minutes, gentle and unhurried. They parted, but didn't pull away from each other, their lips hovering an inch apart as they drew in long breaths of air. Murphy's heart was racing as he looked down at Clarke and a zing of satisfaction shot through his stomach at the sight of her red and swollen lips. Her eyes were still closed and a small frown creased her brow as she leaned towards him again, tilting her face to press her forehead against his. His own eyes fell closed as he pulled in a long breath and lost himself in her scent.

"I thought you were dead." Clarke whispered into the silence, her voice thick with emotion. Murphy tensed at the sound. She leaned back slightly to look at him, and Murphy saw pain flashing sharply through her blue eyes. "You weren't in the drop ship." She said quietly. "I thought…" her voice quivered. "How…?" she faltered and swallowed hard. "I thought you were dead." Her eyes dropped away from his. Murphy brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb sweeping tenderly over her skin as he hesitantly leaned in and placed a soothing kiss against her lips. The kiss was a tender, feather light touch that made her stomach flip. Clarke blew out a calming breath and returned her eyes to meet Murphy's warm gaze. He wrapped his arm around her back and squeezed her against him.

"When we started to retreat, back to the dropship, some of us were providing cover fire; holding back the Grounders to give everyone enough time to get inside." He started to explain. "But then another section of the wall collapsed. It was off to the side, east of the gate. They were coming in from both sides then." He swallowed thickly, remembering the terror that had washed over him. "Me and Bellamy got cut off from the rest. We knew we didn't have much time until the blast and there were too many to fight through. We knew it was impossible for us to get to the dropship, and even if we could have made it in time we would just have been bringing a swarm of grounders with us. So we ran." Clarke watched him intently as he continued. "We shot every grounder in our path, and we kept running until the blast finally came and knocked us off our feet. I remember waking up: I had a killer headache and couldn't hear anything but ringing in my ears. I couldn't stand. I was bleeding somewhere. I saw Bellamy's leg sticking out from under some bushes off to the side but before I could get to him a guy in a white spacesuit appeared through the smoke and he was pointing a gun at me. That's the last thing I remember." He wasn't looking at her anymore, his head was dipped down away from her.

"I'm glad you're ok Murphy." She whispered softly. He didn't answer, didn't look up, just swallowed down the lump in his throat.

A silence settled around them as they lay there lost in thought, arms wrapped tightly around each other.

* * *

They stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other. With a wide yawn Clarke eventually broke the silence to speak.

"Murphy?" She said.

"Mmm?" he wordlessly answered.

"Is this your bed?" She asked suddenly. A startled laugh broke out of Murphy. Then and a blush spread quickly across his cheeks. She felt him tense and then shift uncomfortable beside her. He coughed.

"Uh yes." He answered, fidgeting with his t-shirt as he watched her uncertainly, as though he expected her to be unhappy about that.

"Well it's definitely better than my tent." She grinned, shifting her position and wriggling a little to test the comfort of the mattress. Then she propped herself up on her elbows and caste her gaze around them, taking in the other bunks and the rest of the large dorm room.

"Where is everyone?" she asked turning back to him.

"Having dinner." He answered, pushing himself up to sit up against the metal rail at the head of the bed, nodding towards the double doors at the middle of the dorm.

"You didn't go?" Clarke asked sitting up also.

"I, ehh…" a faint blush coloured his skin again "I didn't want you to wake up alone."

The discomfort he felt at admitting that to her was quickly evaporated by the brilliant smile she gave him. Her eyes sparkled happily at him as she leaned forward to press a quick peck against his lips "That's sweet John Murphy!" she teased.

"Shut up Princess." He gritted out. But there was something almost smug in the small curve at the corner of his mouth that made Clarke grin back at him. She crawled up the bed to sit beside him.

The drowsiness, Clarke noticed, had completely gone and her mind was now able to think quicker. Her thoughts began to churn, and she began to process the details of their situation: they were alive; and together; they had survived the grounder attack; and they were now somewhere safe. That was more than she had dared to hope for in a very long time. But she wouldn't let herself be fooled by their good luck, her instincts told her to be cautious. Now more than ever she needed to keep her people safe. That prospect turned her insides cold. Her expression shuttered and instinct had her instantly pulling up mental walls to block out the permeating cold of her doubt. They had been lucky, Clarke realised. But they didn't know enough about their 'saviours' from Mount Weather. Clarke needed to make sure her people were safe.

"What's it like here?" Clarke asked Murphy.

Murphy watched the change in her as Clarke brooded on their future. The time for relaxing and basking in the joy of being reunited was over, he realised. Murphy saw the resignation and the determination that passed over her face while she thought, and as her spine straightened imperceptibly he instantly recognised her demeanour – Clarke was stepping back into the role of leader.

"What all have I missed?" She asked.

Murphy knew that being their leader was a duty that Clare carried on her shoulders like a heavy burden; she hated the power, but she felt a keen sense of responsible for them all. She wanted to look after everyone. Clarke was too good, too righteous for her own good. Murphy had never had that problem, after his father's death no one had ever looked out for him except himself. He was more than happy to be selfish and think only of himself.

"Tell me everything." She finished. Murphy's heart clenched at the tightness in her tone of voice, it was almost pleading. She couldn't do this alone.

She was too god for him. He didn't deserve her. But she also _needed_ him. She didn't like being in charge, she felt the strain of her burden, it weighed down heavily on her and her worries and doubts ate at her insides like a cancer. So as they sat there, and Clarke decided she would continue to protect the 100, Murphy made the decision to be the one to protect her.

The others had started to return from dinner and the dorm grew steadily busier and noisier around them, but Clarke and Murphy stayed where they were, tucked into the far corner of the dorm sitting close together on the bed and talking quietly until they fell asleep, Clarke's head on Murphy's chest and Murphy's arm draped around her.

* * *

 _What were the people in Mount Weather like?_

 _What did they want with the 100?_

 _Where_ were _they all?_

These questions had started looping through Clarke's head soon after she woke up and realised that the two doors leading out of the dormitory: the doors at the end of the dormitory where she had entered through from the long white corridor and the doors in the middle of the dormitory where the others had gone for dinner; were both locked. _Why would they lock them in?_ Suspicion crept uncomfortably along her spine.

"Murphy." She hissed in his ear, shaking his shoulder roughly to wake him.

"What?" he groaned trying to shrug off her hand. Clarke tightened her grip and Murphy opened his eyes to look at her "What's wrong?"

"The doors," she whispered "They're locked."

"Oh. Yeah." He lay his head back down and closed his eyes. "They always are."

"What? But…why?" she asked.

"Don't know." He kept his eyes closed as he answered her, trying to hold stubbornly on to sleep. "They ring a bell for meals three times a day and the doors on that side are unlocked then, but as soon as the last person leaves they're locked again."

"And the other doors?" Murphy heard the tinge of fear in her voice and opened his eyes to look at her. With a sigh he sat up, dragging his fingers through his hair.

"They only open when the old witch brings someone new in." He told her "Or when the guard takes someone for their _'_ _official welcome'_ with President Wallace." He drawled sarcastically.

"So they're keeping us locked in," She whispered softly, "like…"

"Prisoners." Murphy finished for her in a low tone. "Yeah." Clarke frowned at him.

"Doesn't that bother you?" She asked. Murphy frowned and shrugged one shoulder.

"I don't know if anyone else even thinks of it like that. They've healed us, and clothed us. They've given us somewhere safe and warm and dry to stay. Besides we've all been prisoners before, remember. And this is a lot better than the skybox: the beds are comfortable; the showers are hot and the food is good."

"So that makes it ok?" Clarkes eyes stared at him wide with panic. "It's better here than what we left so it doesn't matter that we're prisoners?"

"No of course not." He shook his head, frowning. "I'm just saying a lot of people are happy to be here. They're _grateful._ "

"I'm not asking what everyone else things. I'm asking what _you_ think."

"I don't like it. But…" Murphy hesitated, thinking how best to explain the gut feeling he had. "I think we should wait and see what happens." He explained. Clarkes forehead creased in confusion.

"Why?" she asked softly.

"Because I don't think this is their plan. Why bring us here just to keep us as prisoners? I think this is just a stage in whatever they're planning. The doors are locked, but they haven't treated us like prisoners, and the way Wallace talks… I don't know. It's just a feeling. Wait until you meet him."

"Wallace. He's the president?"

"Yeah that's what he calls himself. Just another weird thing about this place."

"So you don't think we're prisoners, but you don't trust them either?"

"Hell no."

"You think they have a plan for us." Clarke repeated as she thought it over. Murphy shrugged again. "So maybe they're waiting for something." Clarke continued, her mind churning through countless possibilities. "This could be like some sort of quarantine."

Murphy nodded then looked pointedly at the control panel next to the door and added.

"Or observation." Clarkes head snapped to look at the panel, her eyes sliding over the keypad and zeroing in on the small pane of glass above it and the glint of the circular lens behind it. A camera.

"Oh my God." Clarke breathed out, turning away again quickly and looking back at murphy with wide eyes. "They're watching us." Murphy nodded. He had realised that early on but he wasn't sure how many of the others had noticed the three cameras – watching them from the control panels at each of the doors – or if they even cared.

"We've been in worse places." He said in a low voice, trying to reassure Clarke "Let's just wait and see what happens next."

She nodded in agreement but the shadow of worry still lingered on her face.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think..._


	17. Chapter 17

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Seventeen**

Murphy was right; the others were grateful to be there. More than grateful, some of them seemed to really _like_ it. As breakfast dragged on the mouthfuls Clarke continued to force down tasted like ash in her mouth as she listened to the others chatter happily about Mount Weather.

 _The food was_ amazing _and there was more of it than they had ever had before, more than the stingy tasteless rations on the ark and it came all steaming hot and freshly prepared without the hassle of having to hunt and kill each meal yourself. The beds were comfortable, showers were hot and clothes were freshly laundered. These people at Mount Weather were_ so _kind,_ so _generous,_ so _helpful. They had taken them in; saved them, healed them._

 _But why?_ Was the question that Clarke screamed hysterically in her head as she smiled tightly at all the happy faces sitting down to breakfast. Murphy grabbed her hand under the table and squeezed it.

* * *

"Miss Griffin." Mount Weather's president greeted her cheerily, like they were old acquaintances being reunited after a long time. He stood from behind a large wooden desk and stepped towards her. "Dante Wallace," he introduced himself, extending a hand for her to shake. Clarke took it, noticing strange spots of discoloration along his fingers, smudges of blue and green. He smiled when he realised what she was looking at. "Oil paints." He explained. "I'm an artist." His smile widened as he continued, "I'm told you are too." A chill of suspicion crept across her shoulders as he smiled at her encouragingly.

"Who told you that." Clarke asked, keeping her tone carefully neutral.

"Your people." He said it as if it were obvious, but as he smiled at her Clarke remembered her conversation with Jasper and Monty yesterday, when they told her about the president: _'_ _Creepy Dude…He just knows stuff…and we don't know how. No one we spoke to has told them anything, at least not that they've admitted.'_ She kept her expression blank, all the while wondering where he could possibly be getting his information from if not from the 100. "They also told me you are there leader." Wallace continued, "another thing we have in common." Clarke realised he was purposely drawing comparisons between them, to make them seem similar. He wanted her to like him, to relate to him. _But why?_

Clarke pulled back her shoulders and meet his amiable expression with a hard stare.

"How many of us did you capture?"

"Capture?" Wallace's eyes widened "Oh no, you have it wrong. We _rescued_ you. From the savages. We saved you and forty-eight others."

"In that case, you won't mind if we leave." Said Clarke.

"Why would you want to go back out there?" Wallace asked evasively.

"If there are forty-nine of us here, then there are more of our people still out there." She stated.

"The patrol brought back everyone they could find." He countered.

"What about the ark?" She questioned but he was already shaking his head before she had finished asking the question.

"We saw multiple crash sights." He said gravely. "If there are any survivors," he didn't bother to conceal his scepticism, "we will bring them in too."

"So what now?" Clarke asked.

"The last member of your group left quarantine this morning, they are being reunited with the others as we speak. Now that all forty-nine of you are fully recovered I thought a celebration was in order, to welcome you all to Mount Weather." Wallace said. The thought of celebrating made Clarke's stomach lurch. Something felt off but she couldn't put her finger on what.

"Why were we quarantined?" she asked, evading the topic of a celebration.

"You were all contaminated with radiation." He answered matter-of-factly. Clarke frowned with confusion.

"The radiation levels aren't enough to kill." She said. A wistful look washed over Wallace's face.

"Not for you maybe." He said wistfully "The ground is not as survivable as you believe. Living in space for generations has allowed your people to build up a tolerance with solar radiation, this has been bred through you for generations now." As she listened Clarke was confused by the look of excitement that gleamed briefly in his eyes as he spoke. But it was gone as fast as it had appeared and then a hint of melancholy dampened his expression as he continued "On the ground, natural selection was brutal but effective in allowing the strongest to survive amongst the savages. But to, us in here - the last of human kind – I can assure you the earth is very much still toxic."

Clarke had never considered that the people in Mount Weather stayed there because they had to. She had assumed they stayed in the mountain base for its security and resources, but now it suddenly seemed more oppressive and restrictive. She could see a deep sadness in Wallace's old lined face, but then he seemed to remember himself and turned to her with that excited smile back in place.

"For your people - with radiation in space being higher - your DNA is exceptionally proficient at metabolising radiation. Our scientists were blown away by the efficiency of your systems." He praised enthusiastically. Before Clarke could start to wonder about these scientists and how they could possibly know all of this about the 100, Wallace had already changed the subject.

"A celebration is called for." He declared with a beaming smile. Clarke realised too late that she had let her reluctance show on her face. Wallace's smile turned condescending and for the first time his tone became more forceful.

"You're not fighting for your life anymore Clarke - you made it! And it gives me _great_ pleasure to welcome you all to Mount Weather." Clarke wondered whether it was her paranoia that made the grin on Wallace's face look almost predatory.

* * *

Clarkes head was still spinning as she walked back into the dorm. Her meeting with Wallace had been just as confusing as it had been interesting. Wallace had been polite and welcoming, but his talk of DNA and scientists made her uneasy. Exactly how much did Mount Weather know about them; why did they do such thorough testing – done without even asking for consent? Something didn't feel right about Mount Weather. It was a feeling deep in her gut, wriggly and slimy and uncomfortable that just wouldn't let her relax. Her instincts had always served her well in the past so she wasn't about to ignore them now. But she just couldn't quite put her finger on what specifically bothered her. It was the same with Wallace; there was something about the man that she didn't like, she just couldn't decide what exactly it was. But Murphy was right – they weren't in any immediate danger, so she would just have to _wait,_ and try to figure it out.

As she walked back into the dorm Clarke scanned the room looking for Murphy. She spotted him sitting with Miller on the battered old sofas and headed towards them. She had only taken a few steps when a loud pop sounded from the speakers mounted in each corner. She stopped, along with everyone else in the room, her head jerking up at the strange sound. The pop was followed by a buzz and a crackling, like an old radio spluttering to life. A hush descended over them as everyone's attention turned to the dusty speakers.

"Good afternoon my honoured guests, I am President Wallace." The cheery voice filled the room. "The last of your group, rescued from your camp two weeks ago, was released from quarantine this morning, and has joined the rest of you. Rest assured we continue to look for more survivors."

A soft murmur and a ripple of movement spread through the room. Some smiling faces turned to look warmly at the newest arrival while others looked at each other with expressions of despair that no one else had been saved.

"Now that you are all recovered and reunited I would like to welcome you to Mount Weather." Wallace continued. "Tomorrow you will be properly welcomed into our community: with a welcome feast, to celebrate your arrival and to introduce you all to the rest of our citizens. The people of Mount Weather are all very excited for the new additions to our numbers."

More crackling, followed by a pop and then the speakers fell silent. The dorm erupted with noise as excited conversations bubbled up throughout the room.

Before she took another step, Jasper and Monty came bouncing towards her filled with energy and wearing matching grins. But Monty's excitement dimed once he saw Clarkes face.

"You don't look happy." He said. "Why don't you look happy?"

"I'm not sure about this place." Clarke answered hesitantly, not wanting to say more without having something concrete to tell them. "I just…I don't know…" She trailed off.

"Look around Clarke." Jasper voice was soft, almost pleading as he looked into her eyes. "There's no one hunting us. For the first time in our lives we're not hungry."

"But what about the others?" Clarke countered. "We have friends out there who need our help."

"They are looking for survivors" said Monty "And they are way better equipped than us to find them."

"You believe them?" Clarke asked Monty, surprised. "Just like that?" she looked between him and Jasper who were both observing her with concern "You trust them?"

"Why would they lie Clarke?"

She had no answer. She shrugged in dismay and without anything else to say she stepped away. She tried to smile as she walked passed but without any real feeling behind it it turned into more of a grimace. She thought the look of concern in their eyes might have turned to pity before she turned away from them and moved to sit with Murphy and Miller.

She flopped down onto the sofa next to Murphy, slumping back against the lumpy cushion with a frustrated sigh.

"Well that was interesting." Said Miller, sitting on the sofa opposite them. He slid forward to the edge of his seat, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned in towards them, his eyes fixed on Clarke. "So what do you think?"

"I don't know." She paused then added "I don't like it." Miller frowned, but he didn't look doubtful like Monty and Jasper had and Clarke felt a small amount of relief at that. Miller had always trusted Clarke and Bellamy, so he believed her.

"Did something happen?" Murphy asked her. He twisted slightly in his seat, angling his body more towards her as he moved his arm to lie across the back of the sofa behind her.

"No nothing happened." She shook her head "And I didn't see anything suspicious either. It was just the way he spoke, the things he said." She folded her arms across her stomach. "Wallace said they did tests on us," she told them with a small shudder of disgust. "He was talking about our DNA and how good we are at surviving the radiation." Both boys frowned. Murphy's arm slid down from the back of the sofa to rest comfortingly around Clarke's shoulders and she leaned closer into his side.

"Radiation?" Miller asked with surprise, having quickly suppressed a grin at their actions.

"Yeah. Apparently the ground isn't as safe as we thought it was. The levels are still too high for the people in Mount Weather to go outside." Clarke explained. "I never thought about it before, but it explains the creepy suits they were wearing when they captured us."

"Hazmat suits." Murphy said "So it's not survivable for them, but it's fine for us and the grounders?"

"Yes." Clarke nodded. "And when he explained it he sounded almost…I don't know, jealous?"

"What about his little announcement there?" asked Miller.

"We're _'honoured guests'_?" Murphy scoffed.

"Guests can leave whenever they want." Clarke muttered darkly "I'm not seeing any exits anywhere."

"They _'rescued us'_?" Miller protested. "The fighting was over by the time they showed up in their suits. The explosion had taken out the grounder army, and then they appeared through the smoke pointing their guns at _us_. I don't think that's how rescues normally work." He sneered.

"I wonder what the _'welcome feast'_ is going to be like." Murphy muttered with a steely expression.

"Doesn't it seem like they're trying too hard?" Clarke wondered, her forehead scrunched in thought.

"How do you mean?" asked Miller

"They're saying things like _'rescued'_ and _'guests';_ but they _took_ us here, and they are _keeping_ us here. We don't have any information. We haven't even seen anyone other than the nurse, a couple of guards and Wallace. They have all the power; so why sugar-coat it for us so that our situation seems better than it is?" she questioned.

"Like they _want_ us to like it here." Miller continued, following her train of thought "They want it to seem like a good thing."

"But it's too forced." Added Clarke "It's false."

"It's too good to be true." Murphy concluded. Clarke nodded in agreement.

"So what are they hiding?" said Miller.

"What do they _want_?" Clarke questioned.

* * *

None of the forty-nine had any idea what to expect from the welcome feast. But most of the others didn't seem as wary or suspicious as Clarke, Murphy and Miller. Most of the forty-nine were as content and enthusiastic as Jasper and Monty. It was nothing like anything they had ever experienced before.

Instead of spear-brandishing homicidal grounders there were smartly dressed, smiling faced citizens saying _'welcome'_ and offering refreshments.

They were all so happy, both the forty-nine and their Mount Weather hosts. There was music, chocolate cake, wine. There was lots of wine. And they laughed and joked and ate and chatted like they didn't have a care in the world. And maybe that was it, maybe they didn't have any worries anymore. So they were celebrating, and in a luxury that none of the forty-nine had ever even dreamed of. They drank wine and they laughed; they ate chocolate cake and they chatted. And all Clarke wanted to do was scream. Every time she looked at a bit of cake she thought about all the others who weren't there with them, who might still be out there. Every slice that appeared on the table in front of her she pushed away with a grimace. The wine she didn't push away. The wine she drank to help her bear the fawning welcomes of the mount weather citizens, she drank it to supress the urge to scowl at everyone that approached her. She drank it so she wouldn't scream. But she still wanted to. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, she wanted to grab her friends by the shoulders, shake them roughly and shout 'wake up!'. She wanted to run, far away. She wanted out. But she couldn't get out, didn't even know which way was out.

The realisation sucked all the air out of her lungs. _She couldn't get out._

She was inside a mountain. Under hundreds of tons of rock. And there was no way out.

Suddenly the entire weight of the mountain was pressing down on her. She gasped for air but she couldn't get enough, she couldn't breathe.

The surrounding faces became a blur. The noise was drowned out by a ringing in her ears. With great effort Clarke pushed herself up out of her seat. The room tilted and began to spin as she backed away from the table on wobbly legs. A cold sweat prickled the nape of her neck as her eyes darted frantically around. Her gaze snagged on a familiar figure in a far and quite corner. Murphy was sitting alone, lounging in a large armchair with an empty bottle dangling in his hand. Clarke moved towards him with a stumbling and unsteady stride, and cursed herself for drinking so much wine, as the room rushed by in her peripheral vision. She had stepped right up beside the chair before he saw her but then he looked up at her and his face broke into a lazy smile.

"Hi Beautiful." He slurred.

She didn't stop, walking until her knees hit the chair, Clarke then climbed onto his lap. She curled her body into him, leaning into his chest and burying her face into the warmth of his neck. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't panicking. Maybe it was the pleasant warmth that flowed over her at his affectionate greeting. Maybe it was just having him there next to her. Clarke wasn't sure what it was exactly but she instantly calmed down as air filled her lungs and the world stopped spinning quite so violently. But the wine still left her feeling dizzy and she moaned miserably against the collar of his shirt.

"Hey." He coaxed her, his voice now tinged with concern. "What's wrong?" his hand at the back of her neck gently guided her head back so that he could see her face.

"Murphy I can't do this." Her eyes were red from the wine and shining with unshed tears. "I can't stay here, I just-"

"Okay." He said simply, cutting her off. He rubbed his hand soothingly down the ridge of her spine

"Okay?"

"Okay." He confirmed. His eyes were bloodshot and his words were slowed by the alcohol but his gaze was steady and sure as it met hers. "If you're not happy here; if you don't trust them and don't feel safe, then we'll leave." Her head fell forward, her forehead bumping against his chin

"I don't think it will be that simple." She whined softly.

"Doesn't matter." He answered firmly, his lips brushing against her forehead as he spoke. "We'll do it. Together."

"Thank you." She breathed out with a sigh of relief.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Your feedback is always welcomed...so please review._

 _Also, I'm working on another Clarke/Murphy story just now so please keep a look out for that coming soon._


	18. Chapter 18

**Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Eighteen**

The next morning the after-effects of her overindulgence in the welcome feast wine left Clarke looking pale and feeling tired. But when she sat down to breakfast it was with a renewed sense of determination – that they were going to get out of there, they would find the others, and get back to living their lives their own way, away from Mount Weather.

The previous night the dormitory doors had been opened and the forty-nine were allowed out. In the Main Hall, they had been introduced to the citizens of Mount Weather and Wallace had announced that, now that it was safe, they would have full access to their new home and all that it had to offer. The words _'_ _new home'_ pricked at Clarke like needles, but it was progress. Clarke couldn't deny that this was a good thing; it left her feeling a little less powerless now that they were no longer confined to the dormitory. And she hoped that the new-found freedom would allow her to find a way out.

Her new resolve brought with it a strong appetite, so when she sat down at the table Clarke instantly set about filling her plate with pastries and pouring herself a strong cup of coffee. An even paler and more tired looking Murphy watched her tuck into her breakfast with amusement.

"What?" She asked a little self-consciously, when she felt the persistent heat of his gaze on her.

"Nothing." He told her as he smirked at her collection of pastries. She shook her head and ducked her eyes back down to her plate, trying to supress the blush she could feel building in her cheeks under his attention.

Being back in the Main Hall again - the central hub of the mountain, where all meals were served - hazy memories of last night swirled in Clarke's mind. Her eyes were drawn to the empty armchair in the far corner of the room as the memory of climbing onto Murphy's lap played over and over in her mind. She tore her eyes away, fixed them back on her breakfast and tried to ignore the thump of her heart and the tingle in her stomach as she remembered the feeling of being held securely in his arms and nuzzling into the warmth of his chest.

Clarke busied herself with eating her breakfast, concentrating intently on each bite of food and every sip of coffee in a vain attempt to distract herself, because she was suddenly hyper aware of the man sitting beside her. It left her feeling surprisingly flustered, and a little bashful. Like a magnet pulled by an invisible force, Clarke glanced back up again and her eyes locked with Murphy's. It was as if he could see the memories right there in her eyes, as though he looked right inside of her and saw the spark of her attraction as it burst along each remembered moment, each sensation that her mind had stored up for her to relive, over and over again. The amusement dancing in Murphy's eyes was instantly replaced by a molten heat that made little flames of lust flutter to life in Clarke's stomach.

"Hey!" Jasper called out exuberantly in greeting as he approached the table. As though pulled suddenly from a trance, Clarke and Murphy both jerked back in their seats, their heads snapping round to face Jasper as he and a rather ill looking Monty sat down across from them.

"Did you guys have fun last night?" Jasper asked, almost vibrating with enthusiasm. For some reason the question brought the memories Clarke had just banished rushing straight back and a scarlet blush bloomed across her face before she could do anything to stop it. Thankfully Jasper was too distracted by the selection of food to notice and Monty had closed his eyes the moment he sat down, his skin taking on an unhealth green tinge. But a quiet chuckle from Murphy let her know that he had seen it.

She chanced a glance at him and found him already watching her, once again his eyes shone with amusement but there was something softer in his gaze, as though his amusement was blended with happiness. There was something delightfully intimate in his expression that made Clarke's stomach flutter again, because while he was enjoying her embarrassment, he was also pleased by what he knew she was remembering, and how it was affecting her. The fire in his grey eyes told her that he was just as affected as she was. With a great deal of effort Clarke tore her eyes away from Murphy's when she realised that Jasper was talking again.

"She's really great." Jasper said with a beaming smile. "And she was telling me all about Mount Weather. Isn't it amazing?" it was testament to how distracted she was that Clarke was able to let that statement slip by with only a noncommittal hum in response. "I can't wait to get a good look around. And Maya says that what we saw last night doesn't even begin to cover it. She says there's loads more where that came from: the food, the drink, the furniture, the paintings, everything! Maya told me they have a warehouse full of just paintings." Clarke's attention was snagged unexpectedly and she tuned in to Jasper's ramblings with a sudden keen interest, as her previous distractions immediately melted away.

"Really?" Clarke probed, waiting attentively for anymore nuggets of information.

"Yeah. Isn't that so cool?" Jasper exclaimed.

"Where is it?" She asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Level five, Maya said." Jasper answered around a mouthful of breakfast. "But you need one of those keycard things. I wonder when we'll get ours?" he added thoughtfully, completely unaware of the calculating look that passed between Clarke and Murphy.

* * *

"There's a warehouse just for _paintings_?" Clarke said incredulously, as soon as Jasper and Monty left the table. "How big is this place?"

"Our dormitory, quarantine, the medical rooms, Wallace's office, the Main Hall…" Murphy listed off the parts of Mount Weather they had already seen. "That's all been on one level. So how big is each level? And how many levels are there?" he questioned, his tone clipped with frustration. "Wallace said we're out of quarantine, but I bet we're still on some kind of lockdown in here." Said Clarke.

"Free to leave the dormitory doesn't mean free to go wherever we want." Agreed Murphy.

"I bet the other levels are off-limits. The doors to anywhere important will be restricted access." She said and Murphy nodded.

"We need one of those keycards." He said.

"How are we going to do that?" she wondered aloud.

They sat silently, watching the activity in the Main Hall while they thought. They were alone at their table now, no one else sat within hearing range but the Hall was still busy; a hive of activity buzzing around them. A few stragglers were still eating breakfast; some workers were clearing tables and taking away empty dishes; others sat in little clusters chatting, or on their own reading. This was where life in the mountain happened, when they weren't working or in their sleeping quarters people gathered here.

"Isn't that Jaspers little girlfriend?" Clarke turned her attention to where Murphy was looking and smiled when she spotted Maya.

"I have an Idea."

* * *

It had been too easy. Either Maya was a bit stupid or the people in Mount Weather were far too trusting because it had only taken a few minutes of conversation - a couple of distracting comments from Clarke about how Jasper had told them all about her - and Murphy was able to slip the keycard right out of Maya's pocket as she stood there blushing and smiling at them.

Clarke and Murphy strolled casually out of the main hall. They started walking in the opposite direction to the dormitory, moving steadily from one corridor into another. They followed turn after turn until they reached a dead-end in a deserted passageway which stopped at a sealed door. Without any idea of the layout of the compound it seemed as good a place to start as any.

Murphy kept a watchful eye on the end of the corridor as Clarke swiped the keycard through the pad on the wall. The light blinked from red to green and Clarke pulled the door open.

Instantly a siren split through the air, roaring out in painfully loud blasts that bounced off every surface and seemed to echo throughout the entire mountain.

"Oh yeah, we're definitely not prisoners." Murphy drawled over the noise.

"Come on!" Clarke yelled as she yanked open the door and dashed through. The door opened into a stairwell. It looked like little more than a service access; it was dark and dirty, with a damp smell hanging in the drafty air. They stepped out onto a platform, there were stairs leading up and leading down. Clarke gasped in shock and Murphy cursed under his breath at the sight; the stairs seemed to be endless, stretching far into the darkness beyond what they could see in the dull light. Murphy spotted the faded sign on the wall: _'_ _Emergency Evacuation'._

"That's our way out." He said looking up at the stairs stretching high up the mountain and out of sight.

"Let's go." Said Clarke as she started up the stairs at a run.

There was a stitch burning in her side as she reached a fourth level - another short landing with a thick metal door like the one they had come through - and still the stairs stretched up before her. Clarke pushed on, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she continued to climb, desperate for a glimpse of the surface, of an exit. She could sense Murphy right behind her, could hear his panting breaths. They were about half way up the next flight of stairs when the door on the next landing up burst open and stream of guards came rushing out onto the landing. Clarke stumbled to a halt, stopping so quickly that Murphy bumped into her back. Murphy swore viciously, grabbed Clarkes arm and started back down the stairs, instinctively retreating from the approaching guards. But it was useless, the door on the lower level swung open and within minutes they were surrounded by guards.

The guards closed in, and within minutes, multiple pairs of hands were grabbing hold of them and hauling them down the last few steps and through the door back into the main compound.

"Get your hands off me." Murphy shouted as the guards gripped them fiercely.

"Hey!" Clarke yelled as she was tugged harshly and stumbled against the force of it.

"Let her go." Murphy growled at the guard his eyes black and burning with anger. But there were too many of them and they soon had Clarke and Murphy easily restrained. With a guard holding on firmly to each of their arms, they were marched along the corridor and into an elevator.

"Where are you taking us?" Clarke asked, her heart beating furiously as a cold fear began to creep through her veins. No one answered. The elevator chimed, the doors opened, and they were marched out.

"She asked you a question. What's happening?" Murphy barked. Still the guards remained silent. But now they were coming to a passageway that looked vaguely familiar. They rounded the corner, a guard knocked on the door to the left and they were ushered into the office of President Wallace.

He was standing behind his desk waiting for them, his shoulders tense, his hands clasped behind his back and a dark scowl lining his face.

"I thought we weren't captives?" Murphy growled furiously.

"You breeched a restricted area." Wallace snapped. His stare was hard and cold and he looked down his nose at them, his lips thinned with anger.

"So we're _not_ free." Clarke pressed. "Not really."

"You are _guests_." Wallace said in a cold and sharp voice that was firm with authority. "Perhaps you should act like it." The current of anger flowing through the warning made Clarke stiffen. Beside her, Murphy had gone ridged. There was no denying the threat in that statement.

Wallace took a deep calming breath and morphed his anger into a sombre expression before he continued.

"I'm afraid I have bad news. Our patrols have swept the area and have found no more survivors. Either at your camp or from the ark."

Clarke sucked in a breath as his words hit her like a blow to the face.

"How can they be sure?" her voice was nothing more than a whisper.

"They can't. I've ordered them to keep searching."

"I need to see for myself."

"I'm sorry but that's not possible." Wallace told her, sounding more irritated than apologetic. "I'm doing this for your own good. It's not safe out there. You need time to grieve, these men will show you to your dorm room." With a wave of his hand the guards started to escort them out.

"And if we try to leave?" Clarke asked shakily.

"Don't test me Clarke." Wallace threatened in a steely tone.

* * *

The guards didn't release them until they were at the door to the dormitory. Walking back into the dormitory Clarke and Murphy were with a cacophony of noise, as voices raised in anger shouted at them from all directions.

"What the hell happened?"

"What were you two up to?"

"What were you playing at?!"

Clarke and Murphy stood stunned as the angry crowd pressed in on them. Shock froze them in place at first but then they shrank back, instinctively stepping closer together until they were shoulder to shoulder, staring wide-eyed at the forty-nine. Clarke could make out Justin's aggressive accusation, Jasper's righteous fury, Monty's confusion. Her head spun as she tried to make sense of it.

 _They were furious. Why?_ _They know something happened, the siren went off. They're angry that we've done something wrong?_

Miller came to the rescue, putting his fingers between his lips and whistling shrilly to silence the shouting.

"Let them speak." He reprimanded, his eyes fixed on Justin and narrowing in a silent warning.

"Clarke why are you doing this?" Monty asked desperately, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Because I don't believe them Monty." She cried out in frustration.

"Why would they lie?" he gently implored her, his frown becoming a look of sympathy.

Clarke's stomach lurched. To her, it was such a naïve question to ask. Hadn't life taught them all to be cynical? It couldn't just be her and Murphy who were wary, could it? But as she looked at Monty, then at the others gathered around, she saw the same expression off pity on many of their faces.

"Listen to me: we are safe here." Monty's stare was steady and his words were confident as he tried to assure her. "Thanks to you." He emphasised. Clarke's expression was a grimace of sorrow.

"Not all of us." She said, voice quivering with distress. Monty's face fell and several people around them ducked their heads as a ripple of grief spread through the forty-nine while they listened. All the anger and irritation that had been there minutes before ebbed away in the face of their shared pain.

"I know." Monty said, his words heavy with sadness. "Has Wallace heard anything yet?" he asked and Clarke's chest tightened painfully.

"No. Not yet." Murphy replied smoothly. Clarke glanced up at him sharply but Murphy was looking at Monty, who nodded solemnly. Murmured conversations started amongst the forty-nine as they discussed what the President's patrols might find. The crowed started to splinter as people began to move away.

"You did everything you could Clarke." Monty said consolingly. She had to fight to suppress a cringe. Jasper fidgeted uncomfortably at Monty's side before stepping towards Clarke.

"I know it's hard, but we all have to be in this together." Jasper offered comfortingly. Clarke's chest tightened. He still didn't look happy with them, but, like the others, he seemed appeased for now. Monty gave them a tight-lipped smile of understanding then dragged Monty away. Clarke had a strange feeling that they had just been forgiven. Forgiven for trying to find a way out. Clarke looked at Murphy and saw her own worry and confusion reflected in his grey eyes.

"What are we going to do?" she whispered. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into a hug.

"We'll try again." He whispered into her hair. She turned her face into his neck and hugged back tightly.

"They were all so mad." she muttered in astonishment. "The only reason they aren't still angry is because they think I'm... _acting out_." she hissed under her breath with indignation.

"We'll be more careful." Murphy said, thinking not just of the reaction of the forty-nine but also of the flash of temper Wallace had displayed. "Come on." He took Clarke's hand, laced his fingers through hers and started walking towards the couches. He decided it would be better for them to stay where everyone could see them for now, no wandering off on their own, not while everyone was still suspicious. She squeezed his hand and flashed him a brief look of understanding as she sat down beside him, picked up a pack of cards from the table and asked him to teach her the game she had seen some of the others playing.

They almost started to relax; Clarke laughed as Murphy teased her for being rubbish at cards. And the forty-nine seemed to have forgotten their earlier anger. But then Murphy felt the heat of a stare on him and looked up to see Justin watching them with dark narrowed eyes and a calculating look. A knot of dread started to form in the pit of Murphy's stomach.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Any feedback is always welcome, so please review..._


	19. Chapter 19

_Author note: For anyone who is interested and doesn't already know, I have started another Clarke/Murphy fic (what are we calling that, Clurphy?...) called 'The Boy Next Door' so please do check it out and let me know what you think. Thanks._

 **Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Nineteen**

"Tell me what happened." Miller demanded as he sat down with them at lunch in the Main Hall. Clarke stiffened in her seat.

"We told you." She started falteringly, "I was just looking for answers and-" but Miller cut her off.

"Tell me what _really_ happened." Miller insisted. He looked to Murphy and held his gaze. "Come on man, whatever is going on, tell me. I can help you." Miller implored. Murphy stared at him, watching him carefully for several seconds. It wasn't in his nature to trust anyone, most of his life people had let him down. But Clarke had changed all that, so instead of dismissing Miller outright, Murphy considered his offer to help them. Bellamy had always trusted Miller, and of all the delinquents that had come out of the dropship, Murphy knew that Miller was one of the few who had always respected Clarke as much as he respected Bellamy. Miller was the kind of kid who just wanted to be treated fairly; he recognised that Clarke and Bellamy did the best they could as the 100s leaders so he followed them, he obeyed them. Murphy looked to Clarke and nodded reassuringly then he turned back to Miller and started to explain everything.

* * *

"That's it? That's all he said: _'_ _no survivors'_?" Miller questioned. His shoulders were tensed as he sat forward in his seat, his forearms braced on the table and both hands balled into fists. A cold bowl of soup sat forgotten in front of him.

"I said I wanted to see for myself but he said that's _'_ _not possible'_." Clarke scowled, hacking angrily at a chunk of bread with her knife. "Apparently it's _'_ _for my own good'_."

"So there's no way to know for sure." Miller said. "They could have found anything and be hiding it from us." He seethed with frustration. "Or they might not have even been searching at all!"

Murphy chewed a mouthful of food and watched Miller frown darkly as he processed everything they told him.

"We have to do something." Murphy explained quietly to Miller. "We need answers and the answers might mean we need to leave." Miller stared steadily at Murphy, swallowing once before nodding in understanding.

"I get it: we need to know what's going on. But you two have to be more careful." He warned them.

Miller had only just started to look around at the food in front of him, when an alarm sounded through the hall in a steady stream of bleats, and they all tensed. Suddenly alert, they all straightened up, eyes scanning their surroundings looking for activity. The alarm wasn't as loud or urgent as the siren Clarke and Murphy triggered by opening the restricted door. It didn't seem like a warning, more like a signal. Clarke noticed that like her, the members of the forty-nine that were sitting nearby had all tensed at the sound, but as she looked around she saw few of the Mount Weather citizens reacting to it at all. Movement to her right caught Clarkes attention and she turned to see Maya standing up from where she sat having lunch with Monty and Jasper at the next table over.

"Maya, what's that alarm?" Clarke called out to her. Maya turned to face her with such an angry scowl that Clarke thought she wasn't going to answer, but Maya seemed to pause as she noticed several heads turning to listen in.

"It means the surface patrol are back and are in need of medical attention." She answered tartly.

Clarke's eyes widened, her head whipping back to Murphy and Miller. The three shared a knowing look. That meant they really had been out searching. With a sudden thrill of excitement and a surge of hope Clarke shot up out of her seat. But before she could take a step to follow Maya's retreating form Jasper called out to her.

"What are you doing Clarke?" he asked accusingly. Clarke suppressed a groan of frustration as she turned back to Jasper. She didn't have time for this. But before she had the chance to answer Miller was speaking for her.

" _Surface_ patrol!" He emphasised as he stood. "They might have found survivors!" Miller exclaimed. Jasper regarded them suspiciously, but others within hearing began to mutter excitedly.

"Do you think so?" Monty asked hopefully. Clarke didn't wait around for anyone else to weigh in; she took off quickly after Maya.

"But…" Jasper wavered. Murphy waited, watching as Miller held Jaspers gaze in a silent challenge.

"We'll soon find out." Miller answered Monty without taking his eyes off Jasper. Defeated he quickly dropped his gaze. Murphy shot Miller a grin before racing out after Clarke.

* * *

Clarke was careful to stay a few paces behind Maya, so the girl was unaware that she was being followed. They took a left turn off the main corridor and approached a restricted access door marked 'Medical Bay'. There was an orange warning notice on the door that read 'quarantine section'. A corresponding orange sticker was on the open door of the supply unit where a man stood dressing in protective clothing. Anything coming in from the surface was too toxic for them to be near without hazmat suits, Clarke realised.

"What are we dealing with?" Maya asked the man as she started to pull out equipment for herself.

"They were attacked." He answered without looking up as he carefully pulled on his own gear "One dead in room two, still toxic. The other took his mask off to try to save him. He needs immediate quarantine and treatment."

"Who attacked them?" Clarke asked from behind them. They both spun to face her.

"What are you doing here?" the man sneered at her. But Clarke didn't answer because Murphy had already snuck up behind him, reached around and grabbed the access card off of the lanyard around the man's neck before he even realised Murphy was there. Murphy barged his shoulder against him, pushing his way passed and knocking the man into Maya. They both stumbled in their suits, clutching at the unit for balance as Murphy slid the card through the electronic reader. Maya cursed and fought frantically with her suit, trying to get the protective gear on as quickly as possible as she glared at them suspiciously.

"Wait!" the man shouted urgently at them as the door opened with a beep and a hiss "it's not safe."

"It is for us." Clarke called back as her and Murphy ran through. They raced along the corridor, Clarke scanning doors as they went, looking for number two.

"This one." She told Murphy, reaching for a door on her right, and they entered quickly. A table stood in the middle of the room and on it lay a body wrapped in clear plastic. Murphy hung back as Clarke instantly started assessing the body, her hands running over the plastic as her eyes searched critically.

"There." She stopped, her hands framing a section of the torso. She looked up at Murphy pale faced and frowning. "That's a bullet wound."

"Grounders don't use guns." Murphy said.

"They're lying to us." Clarke breathed, her hands trembling, "Our people are alive out there."

The door opened and a woman in a hazmat suit walked into the room. She froze at the sight of them.

"What are you doing in here?" she challenged angrily. "Get them out of here!" she called over her shoulder. Two more suited figures entered behind her, supporting a man covered in burns. Clarke gasped in horror at the sight of him. His entire face and torso were brutally disfigured by burn, his skin either black like charcoal or a furious bloody red. He was covered in blisters and glistening with puss and fluid. His eyes were glassy and dazed, he made no nose except for his haggard breathing as he staggered stiffly into the room, leaning heavily on his aides. One of the suited figures disengaged from the burn victim and rushed towards them, dragging them out of the way and ejecting them back out into the corridor.

"Our people are out there." Clarke muttered in an undertone to Murphy as they left.

"Do you think it's the 100 or the ark?" he asked, looking around to make sure no one was near them.

"There's no way to know." She shrugged. "Why would the keep that from us?" she hissed angrily.

"What do we do?" he asked her.

"We need something more."

"That's not enough?"

"It might not be. They could make excuses." Clarke sighed with frustration "They're in there right now, they could do anything - distort the wound so it looks like a knife or arrow wound."

"But it wasn't. You're sure?"

"It was a bullet wound." She said firmly.

"Ok." He said simply. "Sorry, I had to ask."

"I know, and that's the problem, the others are going to want proof."

"Then we need to find some." Murphy said.

* * *

Three days later they were still no further forward. Miller had even broken into Wallace's office in the hope of finding some proof to show the others. He found lots to be suspicious of, but no hard evidence. He would try again, he promised Clarke, and they would keep watching and waiting, looking out for other signs of deception. But it was going to be a long game.

Clarke sat in the main hall, dejected and alone. Miller and Murphy were exploring the gym facilities with some of the others. Murphy was reluctant to at first, stubbornly refusing to enjoy anything Mount Weather had to offer and even more unwilling to leave her alone. But they were all tense, and on edge. They had grown used to life outdoors, a life of running in the woods; hunting for their dinner and escaping grounders. Now – trapped inside Mount Weather – there was too much pent-up energy. So Clarke sent Murphy off with Miller to burn off some steam, and told them to eavesdrop of the Mount Weather citizens while they were there, just so the felt like they were doing something worthwhile.

Clarke was sitting in the quite corner that her and Murphy had sat in during the welcome feast, curled up in the armchair with a book and a hot drink. She liked it there, it was quiet and out of the way, a comfortable little nook to sit unnoticed and watch the world go by. A group of men walked by close to her seat, catching her attention as they headed for the exit.

"You coming?" the first one said. As he turned Clarke caught sight of who he was talking to and every inch of her body went rigid.

"No I'll pass. Doc says I've got one more treatment."

Clarke stared in disbelief. It was the burn victim. Only he hardly had any burns at all, just a bandage wrapped around one hand and some redness and blistering on his face. She stared after him in horror, the image of him from three days ago flashing in her mind as she watched him walk away. Clarke's gut churned with the now familiar feelings of dread and suspicion that Mount Weather seemed to continuously cause her. They had healed him, Clarke processed in shock. It couldn't be possible. It _wasn't_ possible.

She sprang to her feet and fled the main hall as nausea started to gnaw at her stomach. She barely paid attention to where she was going as she ran back to the dorm, too distracted by the picture in her mind from three days ago: of burns that were so severe they had the potential to be fatal. And now they were gone. She reached the doors to the dorm without being aware of how she got there and barged through. She ploughed straight into a solid chest.

"Watch it!" a horribly familiar voice barked at her. Clarke stumbled backwards from the force of the impact, slightly dazed and panting for air. "Try looking where you're going Princess." Justin growled at her.

"Get out of my way Justin." Clarke snapped, hurriedly trying to shove her way passed him but he stood firm and pushed her back away from him as he blocked her way.

"You ran into _me,_ you crazy bitch." He snarled at her. "Where's my apology?" he caught her around the waist as she tried once again to storm by him.

" _Hey!_ " An angry roar tore across the room. Clarke and Justin both turned and saw a furious looking Murphy prowling towards them. The white-hot anger blazing in Murphy's eyes seemed to still Justin in place, giving Clarke the chance to push her way passed him and run to Murphy.

The immediate and violent surge of fury that erupted in Murphy at the sight of Justin catching hold of Clarke was almost overpowering. He yelled in rage, moving forward with a sudden violent desire. He closed in on Justin with a deadly intent, a rush of adrenalin shooting through his veins. But then Clarke broke free and darted towards him, and as his focus moved from Justin to Clarke he noticed how pale she was, and that her eyes were round and wild. The swell of rage inside him was burst by a sharp spike of concern. His hunger for violence was quickly forgotten in place of his worry.

Murphy caught her as she barrelled into him, his arms coming around her protectively.

"What happened?" he asked soothingly, watching her with concern. Her hands came up to grip his biceps, her nails biting into his skin as she clung to him. Clarke leaned against him seeking comfort, angling her face into the crook of his neck as she caught her breath. Murphy tightened his arm around her. He glanced over her head, shooting a furious glare at Justin. He watched with some satisfaction as Miller approached Justin with a menacing glare.

"Walk away Justin." He warned him dangerously.

"Whatever man." Justin spat, sneering at Miller. He threw Murphy a disgusted look as he turned away but Murphy's attention was already back on the trembling blonde in front of him.

"The burn victim" she breathed, pulling back far enough to look up at him,

"What?" He frowned in confusion.

"The guy we saw in the medical bay the other day, the survivor from the surface patrol. I just saw him in the main hall, walking around as good as new."

Murphy felt the tension in his muscles uncoil as he realised that nothing had happened to her. She was distressed and panicking but it wasn't because of something anyone had done to her and the relief he felt was overwhelming. His fear and anger soothed, Murphy was able to think about what she was telling him.

"How is that possible?" he asked.

"I have no idea." She whispered, fear making the words quiver as they came out. "I mean it's not. It _shouldn't_ be." Her grip on him tightened, fingers clenching with a spasm of fear. The confusion and apprehension sent a shiver cascading up her spine.

"Come here." Murphy ushered her towards the couches. He sat down, pulling her down with him. Clarke curled into his side, even as her mind whirled with the possibilities of what Mount Weather were hiding, she took comfort from the reassuring weight of his arm wrapped around her and holding her close against him.

She took a deep breath, collecting herself before she continued.

"I think we've been looking for answers in the wrong place."

"You want to search the medical bay? What would they be hiding there?"

"Miracles of medicine apparently." She muttered sarcastically. "I've got an idea." Clarke said in an undertone, "But it's stupid, and dangerous."

"I'm listening." Said Murphy.

"Only patients are allowed in medical." She told him. Murphy's forehead creased with confusion as he nodded for her to go on. "We become patients, we have an accident." She explained. "I'll fall and hit my head or-"

"Uh-uh." Murphy cut her off, shaking his head emphatically "No way! _I'll_ get hurt." He told her firmly. Clarke quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

"So you can get hurt but I can't?" she challenged. He just shrugged and Clarke decided to ignore that for now, not sure whether it was chauvinism or gallantry.

"That would get you into medical, but how do I get there?" Clarke asked.

"I can do it." Murphy told her.

"I'd feel better if we could both go." She said with a frown.

"Well," Murphy started, with the hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, "maybe you get all hysterical when I hurt myself and you faint or something." She sent him a hard stare.

"You want me to _faint_ at the sight of your injury." She said with a tone of irritation that kindled the amusement dancing in Murphy's eyes. "They'll know that I've been the 100's healer, you think they'll buy that I _faint_?"

"Ok, so, not because of the blood, you faint because you're so worried about me?" He grinned at her.

"You're full of yourself." She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "No." she told him firmly. "Try again. We need it to be believable." Clarke muttered as she thought.

"Believable." Murphy repeated, an idea forming. "I'm a dick." He told her.

"Excuse me?"

"Everyone knows that. I'm always getting into _fights_." Murphy said, his eyes scanning the room until he spotted Justin. Clarke followed his gaze, her eyebrows shooting up when she realised what he was suggesting. "And you _did_ promise that I could kick his ass the next time." He reminded her with a grin that was dark and menacing, a grin that reminded her of the old Murphy, and that – rather unexpectedly – stirred a flutter of attraction in her stomach.

"I did, didn't I." Clarke agreed distractedly, licking her lips and chewing nervously on her lip. "It's believable." She conceded.

"It's a good plan." He encouraged her.

"You'd still be in medical on your own." Clarke hesitated.

"I can do this." He assured her.

"You'll get hurt for real." She said softly, her brow creasing with concern as she looked into his eyes. "It won't be some kind of staged injury. We're talking about a real fight."

Murphy could plainly see the fear in her eyes, but it wasn't like her earlier fear of Mount Weather - which was a fear of the unknown - this was fear _for him_. It made his chest swell with emotion. He tenderly cupped a hand around her cheek as he met her stare. He hopped that she could see how much her care for him meant to him, he hoped that she could see how much he cared about her. Because he wasn't good at these things; he wasn't good at telling people how he felt. But he was good at fighting. So he would happily get into a hundred fights if that was how he could help her.

"Don't worry about me." He muttered softly to her as his thumb stroked delicately across her bottom lip. Then a smirk curved across his face and a dark edge of menace glinted in his eyes. "Besides," he said in a low voice that danced along Clarke's skin in a pleasant shiver. "Justin has it coming."

* * *

 _Let me know what you think, you're feedback is always appreciated..._


	20. Chapter 20

AN: I am so sorry I disappeared for a while there. I haven't forgotten about this story, I still love it and will finish it, I've just had a very busy year. I hope there are still some people out there who want to keep reading this.

 **Miss Me Princess?**

 **Chapter Twenty**

Clarke still held a glimmer of unease in her eyes, but Murphy was happy that he had talked her round to the idea convincingly enough. So now he could move on to what was bothering him most. He slid his palm from her cheek drawing it down to cradle her jaw, the thumb that had been stroking her bottom lip slid down to her chin allowing him to tilt Clarkes face up. Murphy locked onto her gaze with intensity.

"Forget about the burn victim for a minute." He instructed. Clarke nodded, her eyes trained intently on his. "Tell me what happened with Justin."

She could see it now, the anger that had been burning away all the while, underneath his concern. Clarke started to shake her head, to deny that anything bad had happened, to sooth his anger.

"It was nothing." She reassured. Murphy's jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed sharply.

"He was holding you back!" Murphy exclaimed. "That's not nothing Clarke. He shouldn't be touching you at all."

"I was in such a hurry I crashed right into him." She explained, her hand coming up to hold his wrist. "He was stopping me from barging passed because he wanted me to apologise."

"You looked terrified." He said darkly. "When I saw him holding on to you…" With her hand on his wrist Clarke gently tugged on his arm until Murphy removed his grip on her chin, allowing her to lean further forward. She leaned into him, resting her forehead against his.

"I was distracted." They were so close that when she spoke it was as though she was breathing in the air from his mouth, like they were sharing a breath. "I was caught up in my head, thinking about this place; about the burn victim and whatever freaky science-defying tricks they're doing here." A shiver of fear twitched down her spine as her mind briefly flashed back to the hurricane of frightening thoughts that had so recently whirled through her mind. "That's what was scaring me." She pulled back slightly so she could look into his eyes. "If I hadn't been so caught up in all of that I would have dealt with Justin." Murphy frowned. "It was nothing." She repeated. "I'm not scared of Justin."

"Maybe you should be." His expression was tight, his eyes burning with concern. Clarke smiled. His eyebrows shot up with surprise.

She nodded.

"We need to watch out for him, he's definitely trouble." She conceded. "But I'm not scared of him. I wasn't, even when he was following us through the forest on our way to the bunker."

"Why not?" Murphy questioned with a look of confusion.

"Because I've got John Murphy at my back." Murphy's eyes widened. Clarke smiled at him. "When he saw you," Clarke continued with a mischievous grin. "I'm pretty sure he looked more terrified than I did." There was a flash of amusement in Murphy's eyes as a small smirk slowly curled his lips.

"Yeah well, what was it you said about me Princess? People don't like me very much."

"They don't?" she cocked her head to the side, regarding him with mock surprise.

"Nope. I'm mean and kind of a bully." He informed her, using her words from a conversation that felt like years ago. Clarke's expression softened.

"I like you." She said quietly. His eyes flickered over her face, as though to try and gauge if she was being truthful. Murphy swallowed.

"Good." He muttered softly. "I like you too Princess." A rush of warmth washed over her. She had already known how he felt, of course, but that was the first time either of them had openly said anything. Despite the situation they were in Clarke couldn't help but feel happy. But then the worry resurfaced, gnawing away at her insides and her thoughts fell to less happy things as her earlier fears were again rekindled.

"Murphy are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked him.

"Absolutely." He told her firmly. She sighed and leaned into him.

* * *

Murphy's plan was simple: he would follow Justin into the toilets, goad him into a fight, then make sure that he took a punch that would be solid enough to get him taken to the medical bay. Clarke was to give him five minutes before sending Miller in after him to discover them, split up the fight, and call for some help. It was simple. It was two people spiting words and throwing punches at each other for a few minutes before someone intervened.

But almost as soon as Murphy left, Clarke changed her mind; it was a bad idea. These were two people who hated each other and five minutes suddenly seemed like a ridiculously long length of time. Surely one punch each would be enough, and that would only take a few seconds. How many hits could they get in in five minutes?

Clarke's eyes were glued to the door of the bathroom as she sat squirming on the couch, counting every second as it crawled by. Her heart rose uncomfortably in her chest as she imagined what was going on behind that door. Memories of Murphy after he was beaten up by the grounders turned her blood cold as they swam in her mind and a knot tightened in her throat as she continued to count. She was barely able to stay in her seat for the full five minutes. As soon as they were up she sprang to her feet and raced towards Miller, calling out his name as she dashed across the dorm.

"Murphy is fighting Justin." She grabbed his arm and yanked. "You have to go and break it up." She urged him forward, gesturing towards the door.

"What?" Miller asked startled, scrambling to his feet.

"They're fighting. In there. Go. Quick!" The words stumbled out in a frantic babble.

Clarke knew what the plan was. She understood the plan. But when Murphy emerged several minutes later, leaning heavily on Miller and looking barely conscious, she felt her stomach give a sickening wrench. _'It's an act'_ she told herself, _'This is all part of the plan'_ she thought as she watched them leave the dormitory. With a shaky sigh she sank back into the couch cushions to wait for his return, whilst trying to ignore the worry that was twining around her heart in a tight band.

* * *

Murphy concentrated on keeping his breathing slow and steady as he lay as still as possible on the hospital bed, pretending to be unconscious as he patiently waited for Justin to be cleared and discharged from medical. His temple throbbed insistently and he could already feel a headache building behind his eye. Years of fights in the skybox had taught him to always protect his head from a punch but he deliberately hadn't blocked Justin's strike at his left temple, knowing it was exactly the excuse he was looking for to feign a concussion. There was already a lump pushing its way out along his hairline and he was sure the tightness he could feel across the top of his cheekbone was the start of a bruise. As he listened there was the rustling of sheets and the soft voice of the doctor murmuring just outside his range of hearing. Within a few minutes, after a few more muttered words from the doctor, Murphy heard footsteps scuffing along the polished floor and the creak if the door hinges. Then there was silence. He waited, allowing the silence to linger for a while before he chanced a peak, cracking an eyelid open to glance around the infirmary. Justin and the doctor were both gone. He opened both eyes fully, sat up and looked around. There was one other person in the ward, a man lying seemingly unconscious on the bed opposite him. With a quick cautious glance towards the door Murphy climbed out of bed, and at the back of his mind he noted that since the room didn't spin and his vision didn't blur then he wasn't concussed.

Murphy padded softly across the ward, quietly stepping up to the occupied bed for a better look. The face was vaguely familiar, and the lingering remnants of the burns still reddening his arm and face identified him as the burn victim that Clarke had described. Murphy was amazed at the difference in him, at the rate of his recovery, from being so brutally scarred and damaged just a few days ago and yet now there were only angry red patches of blistering skin. He examined the man closely, suspicious of how such a speedy recovery could be possible. He took note of the machine beside the bed, beeping in a steady rhythm and his scepticism made him question: if this man was as recovered as he appeared to be then why was he lying unconscious in the medical bay, hooked up to a machine?

A tube ran out of the machine and into the man's body through a needle in the crease of his elbow. At first glance Murphy thought the tube was red, but as he examined it more closely he realised it wasn't red, it was what was flowing through it that was red. Like blood. Was it coming out of him and into the machine or was the machine putting it into him? Murphy followed the tube, tracing its route as it extended out behind the machine to the wall, where it connected to a pipe which stretched along the entire length of the room. Murphy followed the pipe the length of the wall until it disappeared through the concrete. Murphy wondered if it continued into the next room, as he traced a hand along the seam where the pipe met the concrete. There was a large vent in the wall, just underneath the pipe. Murphy knelt and peered through the dusty slats. It was dark but there was space behind the vent, air was whispering through it. He gave the old metal slats an experimental tug and they shifted with a groan, loosening slightly. He adjusted his stance and took a firmer grip on the rusty vent, then he pulled, levering his weight against the hinge. With a screech of metal, it came free and Murphy removed the vent from its bracket to reveal a dark and dusty airduct.

Murphy climbed into the cramped dark space. Hunched in a crouch, he shuffled awkwardly forward towards the circle of light ahead of him. After a few minutes of difficult manoeuvring, that made his back ache and his legs cramp, he reached the end of the airduct. He stopped, lingering in the safety of the shadow as he peered out. The dark tunnel opened straight out into a room, there was no grate or vent on the mouth of the airduct like there had been in the medical bay, just a gaping hole at the end of the shaft. It looked like a service area; it was cold and quiet and had the same look of plain damp concrete as the service stairway he and Clarke had discovered. Murphy edged towards the opening with caution but could hear no noise coming from the room beyond and a quick glance saw no movement. He stepped out vigilantly, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light after the almost total darkness in the airduct.

He looked around the room and stopped dead. His heart froze in his chest for a long moment. Then it kicked back into life with a jolt and thrummed with terror against his ribs.

There were two bodies hung up in the centre of the room. Two people hanging upside down by their ankles. A shiver crawled across his skin and rattled along his spine until the hair on the nape of his neck stood on end. _Were they dead?_ His stomach roiled as he forced himself to look more closely, to take in details of the horrific scene before him. No, they were alive, but sedated or unconscious. Probably close to death. They were so pale and still, there skin was wane and waxy looking, the veins in their arms were blue and distended, and their lips and eye sockets were purplish blue like the colour of a bruise. Murphy spotted tattoos, the dark ink contrasting sharply with the deathly white of their skin. They were grounders. Murphy's heart sank when he noticed the tubes coming out of their arms and realised they were being drained of their blood. The tubes all converged and connected to a pipe which fed through the wall and back into the hospital wing. This was what the unconscious burn victim was hooked up to. They were taking blood from these grounders and putting it into him. _Why? How could they do this? Did the people of Mount Weather know this happened? Was it hidden here in this service chamber because it was a secret or because it was easier for their consciences to bare when it wasn't happening in plain sight. What kind of people were they? Oh god, were they in danger? Would they do this or something like this to the forty-nine, if it was in the name of science or for the benefit of their own people?_ Clarke was right, this place was bad. They needed to leave.

Murphy didn't remember much after that. With the image of the hanging grounders burned into his mind he made his way back into the medical bay in a daze. He managed to focus enough to remember to replace the grate back onto the vent once he had climbed back through. Then he sat on his hospital bed in a dumbfounded stupor, watching the grounder-blood flow through the machine and into the burn victim while he lay unconscious on his own bed. It was treatment; the blood obviously had healing properties, but did this man know what it was that was responsible for his miraculous recovery? Murphy had no idea how long had passed by the time the doctor returned. She prodded his head, flashed a torch in his eyes, held up fingers for him to count, then curtly declared he was fine and dismissed him with barely a glance.

As soon as he was out of the medical bay Murphy was able to think better; and his thoughts instantly turned to coming up with an escape plan. As he made his way back to the dormitory, absently stretching and clenching his fist to ease the throbbing in his knuckles, he thought about the service areas and the airducts.

He began making a mental catalogue of every exit he could think of, picturing their various locations and considering all the points where they could find access to them. He skimmed his fingers over his temple, testing the bump there while his mind raced to construct a way out of their underground prison.

It wasn't until he opened the door to the dormitory that he realised how late it was. The lights were off, and the room was dark other than the soft glow of the safety lights that illuminated each of the doors and the crack of light issuing out from under the bathroom door at the far end of the room. The door slide shut behind him and Murphy was engulfed in darkness.

He stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust. A movement at the back of the dorm caught his eye. Someone sitting up in their bed. Even before his eyes began to focus he knew it was Clarke. He took a few steps further into the room. Slowly details started to appear out of the darkness. He could see the line of bunks and the path along the foot of them. He started to walk deeper into the room, cautiously moving towards the upright figure. She was in his bunk, he realised. He silently padded towards her, still seeing little more than the outline of her silhouetted in the dark and the slightest hint of light shining from her eyes as they followed his progress towards her. As he stepped up beside the bunk Clarkes hands groped in the darkness until they found purchase on his shirt. She gripped tightly and pulled him down onto the bed beside her.

He turned onto his side to face her and Clarke wriggled closer until her body was flush against him. Instantly her hands were exploring ever inch of him, skimming up his chest, sliding over his shoulders and down his arms. Murphy felt a slight tremble in her fingers as they trailed over his face. When she traced over the lump on his temple he winced. Clarke sucked in a breath, her whole body suddenly rigged beside him.

"It's just a bruise."

"Are you okay?" her voice quivered over the question.

"I'm fine." But she didn't look reassured.

"That was a terrible plan." She breathed out on a shuddering breath. Her fingers brushed tenderly along his cheek bone.

"Clarke, I'm okay." He repeated, catching a hold of her fingers and guiding them to his lips to press a kiss to them.

"You're okay?" she repeated shakily. He nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist

"I'm fine. But it's bad." Words clogged in his throat as he tried to figure out how to explain what he had seen. "It's…Jesus. You will not believe…"

"What?" she urged him.

"You were right. Behind the medical bay. Shit. It's really bad Clarke."

"Tell me." She insisted. Murphy pulled her tightly against him and started to explain in a whisper.

* * *

 _Thanks for reading._

 _And thanks to everyone that has reviewed and followed and favourited. I hope there are still people interested in this story despite the horrendously long amount of time since I last updated._

 _Feedback is always welcomed._


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